


Doubts and certainties

by may_green



Series: Doubts, certainties and more [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ActionHero!Aziraphale, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Best Friends, Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Our Side (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), the Third Side (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-07-29 16:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/may_green/pseuds/may_green
Summary: Several months passed since the Apocalypse-That-Was-Not. Are the demon and the angel really free? Happy? Left alone? How do they cope with the new life?  And what do the other players in the big game think about it?_______Finished now.





	1. The Demon

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker, make stupid mistakes, sorry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you bold enough to share a drink with me?" he pushed up a brow. "Guys are so shy now".

One of the little advantages of the not happened Armageddon – although it would be highly unwisely to mention it Below – was the opportunity to drop in at a nice long-known bar as before and have a glass or two, possibly with some colleagues before going back to Hell.

But now the demon-messenger Saar flew from the familiar neon sign with the speed of a tornado. What was this jerk doing here? How dares he to show his face to a common Hell forces' meeting place? And should a demon deliver this news to his superiors or would it be better not to mention he had a misfortune to see him at all? The second option looked safer.

The one who scared Saar so much was currently sitting at the bar counter in a company of a gorgeous black-eyed blonde in a high-necked, hiding nothing dress. Saar would be very glad to make a mistake, but this manner to spread all over the furniture with the sleak figure, this dark-red hair and dark glasses on the pale face were hard to misidentify all together. 

"You are really a bold one, to come here," a blonde succuba with a glass in her hand plucked up her courage to come at him.

He looked her up and down over his glasses:

"That much is clear, but what about you? Are you bold enough to share a drink with me?" he pushed up a brow. "Guys are so shy now".

"I'm not afraid of you, Crowley," she smiled sassy and sat on a bar stool near him.

He grinned ironically, calling upon the barmen to refill their drinks.

“Are the Big Bosses not cross with me anymore... Ranyd?"

“Hastur wants to have your head, okey," she shrugged, trying not to show how much the fact that the demon remembered her name flattered her - they barely met after the 8th century. "Belzeebub keeps silent and banishes your name. Anyway, how would they know where and whom I drink with in my free time?"

"Bad girl," Crowley said sympathetically. "The Earth is a great place for a little hide-and-seek".

She cast him a side-glance beneath her long lashes: he leaned on the counter with one elbow, turning to his counterpart, and the succuba could bet there was an interest in his eyes behind the glasses.

"Do you always play so badly?"

"Oh," Crowley smirked, "this game I don't play at all."

"Which do you prefer?" she asked innocently, tipping with her lips on her cocktail straw.

"In the six millennia I invented hundreds. And most of them bored me," the demon shrugged, absent-mindedly sliding his finger upon the rim of the glass. "Ligur knew where to come. Anyone who wishes can follow."

"I heard a talk about that bookshop rather," the succuba said. "Even if the angel doesn’t burn, books and Hellfire are still a tempting mix, hasn't it crossed your mind?"

"Oh really? actually, not," the idea seemed to amuse Crowley, although there was a distant metal clang in his voice. "Who dislikes literacy so much? Let me guess... Was it Bohos with his guys?"

"No, he isn't here, he is in Syria, I suppose. A couple of big scaly guys. I don't know them. Came here a couple of days ago."

"Well, if you see them again, give a hint: it's a bad idea," Crowley said softly, leaning forward, and now danger soaked his words through. "I don't stand someone touching what's mine."

There was a pause for a couple of human heartbeats, then Ranyd asked:

"That angel of yours, is he so much jealous too?"

The demon relaxedly leaned back again:

"Oh, you know. Trust. Such a comfortable thing. When someone else does it, obviously," he saluted her nonchalantly with his glass before drinking, then followed:

"But hasn't anybody in Hell understood I was just ... wrecking havoc as any decent demon should do?" There was a sincere offence in his voice.

"You betrayed Hell," this was a fact statement. "Stopped the Armageddon," there was a bit of admiration, perhaps, however fading quickly into the teasing: "Took away their war from those eager for battle. Of course, they hate you. But some tell, you deserve a commendation for the seduction of an angel. This is... rare. How have you ever managed? Those self-righteous pricks think themselves so much better than anybody else, they would rather fuck a mirror," she leaned forward, unwillingly and calculated at the same time.

A smirk slithered upon his lips like a snake while he reached and flippantly took a cherry from her glass.

"I've got many talents. Perhaps, one day I show you."

"And this made you immune to Holy water?"

The demon clicked with his tongue and shook his head:

"Not to many secrets at once, baby. So, the Downstairs liked the idea?"

"Many do. Although they would like it more if the angel Fell."

"The rules on this account... are a bit ineffable nowadays," the demon frowned.

"Anyway, until this ... Aziraphale eats from your hands, Heavens sent another wanker in his place – and guess what? He has already done more for our side, than for his own."

The demon snorted:

"So, what did this wigged wonder do?"

In a quarter of an hour he went out of the bar, leaving the slightly disappointed succuba alone. For anyone's sake, to work with lesser demons was even easier than with humans.

Coming out of the door, Crowley withdrew all traces of alcohol from his blood. Here and now, he couldn't let himself be not a hundred percent sharp and battle ready, although it didn't show in his sauntering movements in the slightest.

He looked at his watch. The night was young. Enough time to find out more about someone's plans on arson – and come to Aziraphale for breakfast.

***

Crowley's flat reflected what changed in the last months, perhaps, more than anything.

The demon liked quality staff, but didn't get attached to. His places of living could be perfectly (or arguably) stylish but didn't contain anything to tell about the owner. The same way Crowley visited Aziraphale's bookshop on many occasion since the day it opened, but left no traces of his presence. Yes, Aziraphale did have matching glasses and a special mug for Crowley, but this was his doing. And it was not only about hiding and being discreet – sudden Heavenly visitors could detect traces of a demonic aura and this was dangerous enough. It didn't change now when there was no reason to hide anymore.

Aziraphalew was another matter altogether. He began to rearrange and to fill the space around him sometimes without even noticing. It was just the way his love to the world poured freely out of his being. And now, when he started visiting Crowley's flat on a regular basis, it began to accumulate evidences. Everything for making a nice cup of tea appeared in the demon's kitchen. In some corners of the flat a couple of comfy armchairs came out of nowhere, and a sofa for two before the TV. There were tartan patterned plaids here and there. And there were much more books here now. Not that they really were absent here before - try to survive on the Earth till the 20th century without reading and you will understand how much pose was there in Crowley's loud statements on this matter. But now there were more, and if for Aziraphale these were not the most precious examples, human librarians would probably give a hand for some of them.

These things partly were miracled by a whim and stayed, partly were brought by Aziraphale, partly acquired by Crowley himself. He liked to indulge his angel secretly or quite obviously, now the same as the previous four and a half thousand years.

These were the strange months. Nearly idyllic if not the thought looming on the edge of his mind that they couldn't just go away with everything so easy. Heaven and Hell were silent. No new attempts to get rid of the traitors, no official dismissal (one could expect the Heavenly office to send a severe termination letter in the convoluted style, but no)... No new assignments. Nothing.

For the first time in the six thousand years they just had all the time they want to spend it together. And strolls, dinners, long talks didn't lose a bit of their charm being no longer forbidden and dangerous. They two got spoiled in the last eleven years. Looking after the Anti... the son of the American ambassador they spent more time in the close proximity than ever before, although they needed to be extremely cautious (and no one could reproach nanny Ashtarot with fraternizing with a gardener). If they came back to the usual "see you in some dozens of years", the life would get incredibly more boring.

They didn't even need to talk about. There wasn’t almost a day they spent without going out together or visiting each other. It happened as if by itself.

But demons are not made for idyllies. Crowley hoped they had time, but couldn't get rid of anxiety. He watched his angel and spied on their enemies, and the last days proved in the latter he was absolutely right.

The demon clicked his fingers, and a laptop on his table opened and turned on, launching a search engine at ponce, although it was never connected to electricity or the Internet.

Crowley ran his fingers across the keyboard. For the start, the news about all mysterious sightings, disappearances, fights and killings in the neighborhood. And security video footage from the bar.

The memory of the bookshop on fire scorched his eyelids for a second. Crowley stopped and made himself take a pair of long deep breaths.

Anyone who tries to repeat it will be sorry God had created him once. Now, to work.


	2. The news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until the croissants were finished, Crowley easily filled the time with some nonsense, for the fiftieth time trying to decide if he should tell the angel about the threat.

The angel came home about midday and found Bentley parked in the front of the bookshop and the demon sitting on it, with a paper bag suspiciously reminding of fresh pastry.

"Crowley! Sorry, were you waiting here long?" 

The demon shrugged and put his smartphone away.

"A couple of hours. Didn't know you would be out".

A quick nervous scan of the neighborhood showed Aziraphale not so far away and probably unharmed, so Crowley managed to stay put. He didn't say it.

"You could call," the angel opened the door. "I mean I could stay at home."

"I have nothing so urgent to cancel your plans. Was it something important?"

They came into the bookshop. Aziraphale checked the sing on the door didn’t promise it to be open any earlier than at 3 p.m. this day.

"I just helped in that animal shelter."

Crowley looked at him surprised.

"I thought it was one of your former assignments."

The angel nodded.

"And you never liked this one." 

The angel shrugged:

"They still need help."

"You don't even like pets."

"I don't like the idea of keeping animals at home," Aziraphale corrected "The smell, the fur, all of this... But they can make so many human lives better. And people come to this shelter, some of them really need help. So, I decided to pop in sometimes."

Crowley nodded. Of course, they kept meddling. A little miracle or blessing from Aziraphale for those who needed it badly. A little temptation or provocation from Crowley just for the fun of it. In these two hours of waiting, for instance, he started two holy wars in the Net, caused a quarrel between the fan armies of two popular actors and slightly messed with the text of a funny petition from the people thinking themselves so much holier-than-thou.

"You earned your lunch honestly," the demon smiled and gave Aziraphale the bag.

The angel sniffed it and beamed with joy:

"Wait, I'll make coffee.”

Until the croissants were finished, Crowley easily filled the time with some nonsense, for the fiftieth time trying to decide if he should tell the angel about the threat. On the one hand, he was pretty sure he could handle it on his own and there was no need to bother Aziraphale at all. On the other, it was Aziraphale's bookshop and home and he had the right to know...

"You wanted to..." the angel put quotations with his voice, "sound out" the situation yesterday. Have you find out anything?"

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly.

"The old news of Hell: Hastur wants me dead. Good news: being as thick as he is, he can go on right to the next End of the World," Aziraphale frowned with concern, and Crowley quickly changed the subject, although to a bit slippery one. "Or the Hell's rumors: apparently, if you sleep with an angel, some of the holiness rubs off on you somehow and makes you immune to Holy water. Works both ways, evidently."

Aziraphale’s cup stopped for a moment in the air before be gently put on its saucer.

"Oh. A curious theory. One can't deny it some questionable logic. Let me guess, you didn't dissapoint anyone and added a couple of details?"

"This would be a bit lower than my standards, don't you think?" the demon took offence. "The puffed up look and silence is simple, effective and stylish. I'm just interested if anyone would try to repeat the trick."

Aziraphale tried to keep an earnest face but after a moment succumbed to giggling:

"Imagine Belzeboob asking Galbriel out after job..."

Crowley snorted:

"For the record, Hell could flood Heaven with the first-rate love lyrics and stun with serenades. Considering how many geniuses went Down. But... yeah, I'd watch it!"

After finishing laughing he added: "I'm glad it doesn't concern you too much."

Aziraphale sighed and shrugged:

"Not that I have a reputation worth defending left. A stupid explanation is for us now much better that the right one, isn't it?"

Crowley nodded silently, then asked:

"Any news from the Above?" Aziraphale shook his head:

"Nothing. They are... watching, I assume. I noticed some angelic presence in the surroundings a couple of time, but fleetingly."

"Spying then, how charming," Crowley grinned sarcastically, then got serious: "I heard something. They seem to appoint someone to your position."

Aziraphale kept silent for a few moments.

"Well, this was to be expected," he said with reserve.

"The same old game on the Earth... A soul here, a soul there... I hoped, perhaps they'd get tired of it after the Apocalypse didn't happen and all this keeping score turned out to be senseless. Perhaps they'd let humans in peace..." by the way he spoke, the demon really hoped for nothing. "By now, as I heard, my little show for Gabriel on the occasion of this bookshop's opening turned out to be a prophesy. Your successor is an idiot."

"I was not so smart at first too," Aziraphale answered quietly. "And it is the twenty first century, for God's sake. What did he do?"

"A travel mayhem last week. A street sermon about a cat put off the tree – you know, people really _love_ such lunatics. Cut off the electricity in a whole city district – apparently he wanted to prevent children from watching bad stuff online."

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully.

"Perhaps I could... talk to him. Explain some simple things?"

"Are you sure they would seem simple for anyone who didn't spend six millennia here? I don't know yet where to look for him. And I don't like this idea at all. Heaven’s fault, let them figure out their mess, finally"

"It's not my business anymore," Aziraphale finished with somber reserve. "You are right. Let him try to figure it out himself."

After that, Crowley didn't have the heart to give him other bad news about the bookshop. He expected the angel to be not happy about the coming of a new Heaven's Emissary on Earth, but didn't think Aziraphale would be so upset. The angel tried to hide it, of course, but he was never really good at it, and Crowley after the six thousand years of acquaintance read him quite easily. He did his best to cheer the angel up – but barely succeeded at all.


	3. The Arsonists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The intruders pulled their hoods away and revealed bold purple-scaled heads. They overthrew two bookcases and put the scattered books in the pile, one of them playing with a lighter in his hand.

In the evening two days later Crowley was waiting at a coffee stand kitty-corner to the bookshop. Aziraphale left ten minutes ago going to their appointed dinner in his favorite Japanese restaurant - Crowley always used to be late and today it was very convenient for his plan. As long as fire starters aren't late too. Or cancel the deed for the lack of funny not-burning angels in the shop. To come to a dinner late was one matter, not to come at al - a completely different one.

Somewhere on the edge of his mind, he noticed one more angelic presence – weak and barely here, probable a foot soldier of the Heavenly army. Crowley remembered Aziraphale mentioning something about it. Well, this little spy wouldn't likely meddle.

He saw those he was waiting for: three broad-shouldered figures with the hoods pulled down and hands on their pockets. In the dank evening, it didn't draw any attention, just like his long coat, high gloves and carefully wound up scarf.

One of the three looked into the window and nodded to the second one who with some easy gestures opened the lock. The passersby magically looked the other way. Crowley sighed: Aziraphale could actually make himself safe from any intrusion like this If he didn't have a careless habit of inviting one particular demon in.

He waited for several seconds, then crossed the street and came in, closed the door tightly and put a sheet of paper with a complicated drawing on the glass. Crowley always had a lot of curiosity and strange interests. For example, he was a rare demon with a good knowledge in demonology. His attitude towards it was mixed. On the one hand, to be summoned and forced to deal with another wanker's demands was one of the best ways to ruin a pleasant evening. And their wishes were very repetitive. On the other, the ingenuity and diligence people put into trapping and holding a creature nearly always able to kill them inspired wonder. Anyway, the part invented by Heaven was nasty.

The intruders pulled their hoods away and revealed bold purple-scaled heads. Bvaga demons rarely left Hell in the last centuries, but perhaps Beelzebub changes the policy trying to appease his millions of followers after the Armageddon was canceled. They overthrew two bookcases and put the scattered books in the pile, one of them playing with a lighter in his hand. Hot wave of rage washed over Crowley.

"Look who showed up," he said with an unpleasant smile and let a whip wound up around his left fist uncurl. "The good angel isn't at home today, sorry. Only me. And I'm in the mood for fun."

Two of the bvaga dropped the books.

"Demon Crowley!" one of them hissed. "The traitor!"

The second one drew his machete.

A bystander would probably think the odds were against Crowley. Any of his opponents were bigger and tougher. Crowley lifted his right hand in cold blood, slightly shook a mister he held, and pressed the plunger aiming it sidewise. A cloud of drops flew out emanating holiness, and the demons froze in awe. Crowley smirked. He loved that expression.

It wasn't the Heavenly holiest water – this would be tricky even if he convinced Aziraphale to renew the stock. But these three were no match for Ligur too.

And even worse, they were no match for Crowley.

The whip strike made a bvaga release his machete. Another slashed through the brow and cheek of the bgvaga with the lighter.

"Perhaps to visit today was not a good idea." Rage boiled sweetly inside Crowley, his lips curved in a maniac smile.

Meanwhile he slowly moved from the door, and one of the bvaga tried to escape beside him. Crowley didn't even glance – as soon as the demon approached, a part of the sign on the door glowed, and he was thrown back.

"A little surprise from the monks of one cloister in the Alps," Crowley commented.

Another bvaga rushed on him, but he stepped back and met him with a spray of holy water. The demon shrieked and rolled over the floor.

"Crowley!" the bvaga with the gashed face tried to appeal to... something, hiding himself swiftly under the table. "We didn't even come for you! These are the angel's book!"

"And the angel is mine," Crowley cut off, and the whip came down to the standing up demon near the door.

"Tell me what you need! I can help you! I can work for you!"

Crowley laughed with contempt:

"Why would I need you, you brainless lizard."

Rage, ruthlessness, pride – he was the demon now Hell would like him to be. But perhaps, not in such circumstances.

The holy water burnt demon was still whining but tried to reach for his knife on the floor. Crowley stepped on his fingers.

This was however not the most stable position, and the bvaga who sneaked from under the table to behind the bookcases used this moment to jump and try to wrench Crowley's arm with the mister. One more cloud of water drops shot out, accidently this time and much closer to the Crowley's face than he would approve of. It made the attacker to bounce back, but not really far enough. The whip is a very dramatic weapon but needs space. Perhaps it was not the best choice for the cluttered up bookshop at all, but it was a bit late to consider.

However, all three enemies were now between him and the entrance, and this placing suited him right well. The bvaga sprayed with holy water looked dreadfully. The burnt flesh hung from his cheekbones in rags and obstructed one eye.

One of the demons threw a ball of fire towards him, but Crowley dematerialized it in the flight. He stroke with the whip down, making two bvagas jump and the third get a slash to his legs.

"Hey-pass! Have you ever been to a circus?"

Two more fireballs flew to Crowley from different directions. He snuffed the one out again with his will, and would just let the second pass him by if not all the precious books around, so he used the holy water. The substances collided with a noticeable bang and energy splash in the air, but unfortunately, no one from the arsonists was hurt. And bvaga seemed finally to start acting together and tried to carefully advance and push Corwley into the corner.

There was getting too much of this bloody stuff in the air. Crowley started to have problems breathing. He adjusted the mister and shot not droplets but spurt – the bvaga with the gushed face squealed clutching at his neck and breast and falling to his knees.

At the same moment, the third lesser demon charged onto him with the machete. Crowley reacted without thought and fended with what he had in his hand. The blade cut through the plastic, and all the water from the bottle was in the air. With an effort of will, Crowley threw it to the enemy.

It wasn't so spectacular as the Ligur's death. After all, then it was the whole thermos of the Heavenly holiest water pouring all over the demon, making him into a puddle of slime. But even much less was enough for a bvaga.

The holy water spread across his face and breast, instantaneously eating through the flesh and melting the demon like a candle. He barely managed to scream before another energy splash in the room said it was now one demon less in the Universe.

"Hah!" Crowley said, raising the whip. Painfully aware of the water drops on his own glove.

At the same moment, the time was out. The second part of the sign on the door blazed up, sucking in all belonging to Hell that was weaker than its creator. Aghast by their fellow's death, bvaga didn't even fight it. If they were sure they were coming to Hell, they would probably jumped in by themselves to be as far from Crowley as possible.

The demon stood in the bookshop alone with the overthrown bookcases, scattered books, drenched with holy water corpse and suffocative cough, which he could finally not withhold anymore. He snapped his fingers putting books and bookcases in their places and looked gloomy at the corpse.

He needed to tell Aziraphale in the end.

***

Fifteen minutes later Crowley was already at the restaurant. A bit worried Aziraphale beamed upon seeing him, and the evening ran as usual.

The angel savoured sushi, the demon nipped a bit here and there and watched him with a gentle grin, they prattled. Aziraphale told about a rare exemplar of Carroll popped up on an auction. He would like to take a look, and Crowley, of course, was glad to give him a lift. A couple of time Crowley couldn't hold back a cough, but waved angel's concern away.

Finally by the dessert Aziraphale suggested to continue the evening at the bookshop. Crowley nodded.

"There is a little problem, angel," he said with fake nonchalance, becoming increasingly nervous while he was speaking. "I was hold off just because of it. There is a demon corpse in your bookshop, it's poured over with holy water, so I couldn't get rid of it..."

The fork clanked against the plate as Aziraphale dropped it reaching for the Crowley's hand.

"Oh God, Crowley, are you all right?"

"Of course. Don't worry, the books are okay, they topped over a couple of bookcases, but only the ones close to the entrance, and I put it all back in place..."

"Crowley!" The angel's greyish-blue eyes got dangerouly dark. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "Who are they, what happened, and for Christ's sake, where did the holy water come from?"

"Madam Tracy is ready to do a lot if it's said to be for you," the demon shrugged.

"You told her you needed holy water for an angel?" Aziraphale snorted. "Sometimes I forget thar you can talk people into doing any stupid thing, demon".

Crowley shrugged again totally innocently.

"Go on answering," the angel got serious again, and Crowley instinctively sqiurmed inside.

"A couple of lesser demon wanted to set your bookshop on fire just for fun. I got the rumours, so I prepared," he said lightly.

"And brought the holy water," the angel specified. "Go on."

"I had to show them who they are messing with," Crowley hissed losing his patience. "I wasn't going to kill anybody, just to scare them for they would remember, but that idiot chopped the mister..."

"That you were holding," - it was clearly an accusation.

"Angel, everything's fine, all the water poured on him..."

Aziraphale stood up and stormed out. The demon swore, waved his hand over the table leaving enough money for the bill and rushed after him.

He caught up only by the car.

"Let's go," Aziraphale said impatiently.

But before that Crowley had to lean on the Bentley wirh another coughing fit. Aziraphale frowned, looking carefully at him.

"You had sprayed it around?"

Crowley nodded.

The car drive was silent. When the demon stopped the car, Aziraphale left abruptly, dropping: "Don't follow until I clean it up."

Through the window Crowley saw his angel looking around. He spent some moments examining the bvaga's body before sending it with one gesture to a dump somewhere. Then he closed his eyes, concentrated and with a small movements of his hands began to gather the rest of holy water from the air and the floor. The last time Crowley watched this in his own flat, and still the vague feeling of wrongness haunted him there for a couple of days.

But stepping inside the shop, he felt nothing of that kind. It was safe here and welcoming, as usual.

He came to one of the previously overthrown bookcases and brushed book spines with his fingers, checking they are fine and in the correct order.

"See, angel, I told you, everything is fine."

Aziraphale turned to face him.

"The bvaga demons, two or three. In my bookshop. And you chose to scare them off with holy water and to say nothing to me."

"I could handle it on my own. Didn't want to upset you once again. It all went almost exactly by the plan. No fire, every book intact, bvaga scared shitless and back to Hell."

Aziraphale sighed deeply.

"Crowley, can you imagine just for a moment that your safety concerns me more than the books'?"

He spoke sincere, and these words suddenly even smoothed the painful feeling in the chest that made the demon cough. Crowley answered with a smirk, but most tenderly:

"Beware, it won't take long until you say you would prefer me to crêpes".

"To converse with crêpes for six thousand years? God forbid!," the angel answered. "But, Crowley, please, be so kind to remember you aren't really immune to holy water."

"I'm not. And you're not to the fire they could bring."

"And you don't need to protect me all the time. I can take care of such things myself."

Crowley coughed.

"Yes. Of course. You're right," he was suddenly glad to have his glasses on. "I'm sorry."

"Just promise me not to do such stupid things again. And no holy water in your hands anymore!"

"Angel, I'm a demon, I break promises..."

"Oh, stop it," Aziraphale brushed it away with his hand. "Just to think you were risking your life for nothing, luring me out to a dinner..."

Crowley could object that in the given circumstances neither Aziraphale's safety nor his own reputation as a demon you don't want to mess with were definitely not nothing. But he wouldn't, even if another coughing fit didn't took his breath away.

"You told something about wine as I recall," he said instead.


	4. The New Emissary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This angel wore an annoyed face and looked like a dark haired middle-aged woman – at least at this regard Heavens tried to keep abreast with the times. The chiffon blouse, trousers and a bun on the head called for an uncomfortable thought that this angel chose Michael as her inspiration.

The cocoa grew cold on the table once again. Aziraphale closed and put away another book.

Even not considering a dreadful first-hand experience when Hastur threw a poor steward demon into the tub, the angel knew already far too much for his comfort about how demons interacted with holy water. But no one wrote how to cure them after. And Crowley's cough didn't get better. The demon didn't complain and acted as if it didn't matter, and half a century ago Aziraphale would believe his bravado. Even several months ago, he would buy it more easily. But in the morning after the world hadn't been destroyed he put on cloth being in the Crowley's body and saw some scars he hadn't even known about. This made him silently question how many of his troubles the demon hadn't never mentioned. And now he was worried.

But one book or another, the solution will present itself. For now he put on a coat and a soft nice cashmere scarf and went to work on another problem.

Technically, he agreed it wasn't his problem, but nonetheless he couldn't put it out of his mind. It would be just rude, at least not to pay a visit and show his respect, wouldn't it? Aziraphale was the Heaven's Emissary on Earth for six millennia and served well making the Heaven's will come true. Even though some orders made him doubt, the most part of the time he executed them with holy devotion and knew better than anybody how difficult this job could be.

He didn't spoke with Crowley about this decision. Of course, if he asked, the demon would find this new angel for him just by asking right questions in the right places. Aziraphale chose to act in a traditional manner and performed a searching ritual, which got him the exact location of the angel. This method also could attract attention, but Aziraphale preferred it to being accused of sneaking and lurking around.

Now he went straight to the point. It was a little hotel not so far away from the Tower. Aziraphale recalled almost unwillingly hundreds of taverns, inns and hotels he stayed at during the history, for days or month, until both he and Crowley chose London as their constant place of residence. He could tell a lot about the progress in the hospitality industry from Babylon to the present days. And even more about joy and poetry of your own home, which becomes more and more your second skin, just another part of yourself. But doubtfully anyone would listen .

Aziraphale realized he was just stalling. He had already got past a receptionist girl looking only at her phone, took the stairs to the third floor and stood now in front of a door. He put himself together, straightened his bowtie and knocked.

The angel who opened the door was not familiar to him, and this made his heart drop a little. Despite the rumors, he vaguely hoped that Heaven would promote someone who worked in the area before and knew him.

This angel wore an annoyed face and looked like a dark haired middle-aged woman – at least at this regard Heavens tried to keep abreast with the times. The chiffon blouse, trousers and a bun on the head called for an uncomfortable thought that this angel chose Michael as her inspiration.

"Good morning," Aziraphale said as nice as possible. "Sorry for the unannounced visit. You must have heard about me..."

"Aziraphale, Nearly Fallen. The Lost Principality,” the angel said with disgust.

"Excuse me," Aziraphale pressed his lips and put his chin up, "I am not closer to the Fall than you are. What about Lost... Well, not all who find another way are lost."

"Not all fraternize with demons and betray their brethren," the angel cut off. "How dare you to come here? Or have you Fallen completely and are going to attack a Heaven's Emissary?" this thought lightened her face up a bit. "It would be my honour to destroy the traitor!"

"Please, no need to raise your voice," Aziraphale smiled nervously to a couple coming along the corridor, which tried to seem uninterested in the fight. "From the six millennia of experience, honestly, it's never a good idea to discuss Heaven's business in public, not to say destroy anyone". He stepped forward so decisively, that the second angel withdrew letting him in, and the taut door holder closed the door immediately. "What to these ridiculous accusations..."Aziraphale pursed his lips, "I repeat, they are quite uncalled for. I came to congratulate you on your appointment and... and offer my help if ever needed."

The angel put her arms across her chest and looked at him sharply: "Who would believe you, traitor? Any demon would say the same."

Something inside Aziraphale broke at these words. Faster than he could think this action over, he spread his wings. Their gentle milky whiteness filled the little room with light, both soft and nearly unbearable to look at.

"I could disobey the Head Office, but now the same as before, I am a God's angel, and anyone who speaks differently speaks a lie."

The new Emissary blinked several times.

"Erm... I apologize, Principality Aziraphale," she said. If Aziraphale wouldn't be already sure she stood a step below him in the hierarchy, her tone now left no doubt. "Gabriel said... Oh, doesn't matter, I apologize." She frowned.

"Can we now talk as civilized pe.. beings?" Aziraphale put the wings away. The demonstration made him feel uneasy. "What's your name?"

"Farael. If you Fell, everything would be simpler, but even if you didn't, in any case you are excommunicated from Heaven. Every relation with you is forbidden, and you are forbidden to come near Heaven and Heaven's agents. Didn't you get a memo?"

Aziraphale held his breaft for a moment and looked around. The hotel room with a big bed and a photo of some cheerful Asian girls as a wallpaper probably looked the same as the moment Farael first stepped inside - excluding a little imprint in the bedcover. But something here was wrong, and not only the slight scent of paint.

"My God, this room doesn't even have a window!" Aziraphale exclaimed.

"Why should it?" the angel shrugged tiresome. "I see quite enough of those pitiful creatures fussing around during my assignments."

Aziraphale pursed his lips again:

"Those creatures are God's beloved children whom we are posted to help."

"Not anymore," Farael crossed her arms on her chest somber. "Our routine operations are put on hold until the new policy will be sanctioned according the clarification of the Plan."

"But... How… you are the Heaven's Emissary, your job is..."

"To follow my orders!" the angel snapped. "Half of Hell is walking on Earth, your ginger snaky friend should have told you already. The demonic activity is beyond all reasonable limits. I execute urgent missions to thwart it," Farael sighed and started to pace between the bed and the wall. "And in between they don't even let me to return to Heaven."

She stopped, desperate longing written across her face. "This is a terrible exile, Principality. How did you stand it for so many years? And above all, how can you stand this, this cage?" she waved her hand across her body.

"I learnt to love it," Aziraphale answered simply. "Together with the whole world. To cherish sensation that only it can give. Warmth of the sunlight. Wind against your skin. Grass beneath your feet. The scent of a sea. Taste of human food. Softness of cloth, roughness of stone, fragility of glass," he smiled gently. "Thousands of little things God weaved this world from."

Farael looked at him in distrust:

"Isn't it defiling of a celestial body?"

Aziraphale shrugged:

"We are already given these earthly vessels. It doesn't matter, if you want it or not, you will feel the world through this body. Let me remind you, even Gabriel likes a well-tailored suit from a nice fabric".

Farael's frown deepened, her eyes were firm:

"You speak about love, Principality, as if it is all tenderness and admiration. Have you forgotten that God's love is demanding and ruthless?"

Aziraphale heard it before and never knew the answer. He was a bad angel. He never knew a love like that.

Farael didn't get the answer and nodded to herself:

"God's love us deadly to the unworthy," she proclaimed solemnly. "If you remembered this, neither lure of this world, nor the lie of a demon wouldn't concern you. Till you are an angel, Aziraphale, it's forbidden to harm you. But when you Fall, one of the true Heaven's children will kill you. I hope it will be me.”

The conversation was very clearly over. Aziraphale shook his head slightly:

"I doubt it, dear. Besides, it is a very evil thought for an angel. Have a nice day!"

With a small smile he went out. His heart was aching, and all the angel wanted was to get home.


	5. Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they were on their side. The problem was, nobody else was.

_"If you Fell, everything would be simpler" _

_"When you Fall…" _

Aziraphale came home, put CLOSED sign on the door and went upstairs. Utterly exhausted, he sat down on his bed.

Hell wanted him to Fall – this was neither new nor strange. This was the essence of angels-demons relationship, to wish each other the worst. Except, of course, the demon's name was Crowley.

Heavens wanted and waited for him to Fall - that was far more difficult to comprehend. Six thousand years of devotion and loyalty were forgotten, he was only a traitor and an outcast for them, just accidently not marked as a proper prey and enemy yet.

Aziraphale lowered his head into his hands. In the whole Universe, just one being now didn't want to see him Fall as much as himself - a demon who was supposed to work towards it for the last millennia in the first place. His Adversary, hereditary enemy, his counterpart, his nemesis... His best friend and soulmate in the real life.

The first weeks after Non-Apocalypse Crowley worried himself sick for Aziraphale. All the prevoius events hit him hard, and the fear of losing Aziraphale if he would turn into a demon made Crowley literally lose his sleep. Three nights in a row, he came into the bookshop silently and just sat there till dawn. At first Aziraphale didn't want to disturb him, but he couldn't concentrate on his book because of the nervous presense of the demon - and he was reading about Johnathan Strange looking for a way into madness in Venice... Not to mention he was himself worried about the demon not knowing the reasons of his behavior.

That time he managed to appease Crowley the same way as he disarmed Farael today. He knew that Falling wasn't a real threat for him. Knew as if God Herself would promise him. For those days the feeling of Her presence, Her love didn't leave him for a moment (and there was nothing ruthless about it). His own powers seemed to raise, wings glowed brighter and got wider.

The only thing that pained him those days was the uncertainty of how Crowley would react to these developments. Aziraphale repined for a long time against the cruelty that doomed his friend to Fall – Crowley, so full of love, and care, and goodness even now, after thousand years in the Hell's service. What questions could make God that angry? If he went away with all his mistakes, and doubts, and liberties, if She was still pleased with him, a bad angel, and bestowed Her love upon him – why was Crowley still bereft of it?.. The thoughts hurt Aziraphale, and he didn't want to hurt Crowley too, didn't want to risk making him angry or jealous and because of that didn't share his joy…

He was ashamed to recall it now. When demon admitted his fear that Aziraphale could be punished by Falling, the angel spread his wings before him and told the truth - and Crowley's face expressed nothing but relief and happiness. If Aziraphale had hurt his feelings, it was by doubting him. And this was a lesson the angel didn't intend to forget.

Yes, they were on their side. The problem was, nobody else was.

Now, after Farael's words, Aziraphale was sure: none of the angels he could call friends will never give him a hand anymore. There were few, of course, whose understanding he could hope to get. Bariel, Master of Corporations – sometimes through the centuries they discussed human fleeting ideas of beauty, because new corporations for angels going to Earth had to comply with them. Uniel, the Keeper of Heaven's Library, whom Aziraphale gave a taste of human literature about eight centuries ago. At first, he thought the idea of fiction scandalous, but later got softer and started to find it more and more amusing. Some guardian angel working here, on Earth. Almost in secret from himself, Aziraphale hoped to be able one day to explain his deeds to them and be forgiven, if not by Heaven in general, than by those whose opinions mattered. Today's visit showed him how he was mistaken.

Of course, he knew it, knew, what he was going into when he returned to Earth against the order and went to find Crowley. He knew that by choosing between Earth and friendship and Heaven and duty he closed the door for good. Now this state just got a name. "Excommunicated from Heaven". Sometimes a name makes a calamity easier to bear, but this time it only stung.

For those who thought Heaven to be only an endless office under Gabriel's rule it wouldn't appear such a great loss. But even now, despite the centuries of changing, they were still so much more. Everything was different to the times before the Heavenly War and the Great Fall - but nothing was lost completely. Harmony, warmth, joy were still there, in the very fabric of Heaven, although pushed to the background when angels concentrated on the idea of great struggle with Hell and complied to its demand – efficiency and discipline.

It wasn't he who spent too much time on Earth. It was his colleagues who spent here too little never giving a spare moment to admire a sunset or to follow a life of a flower from the bud to the last withered petal. Worrying about the Great Plan, they closed their hearts and let them stale. He hoped, hoped even now that they will see their mistake one day.

But that day, in the dusk of the little room above the bookshop, Aziraphale let himself admit for the first time what it was exactly, that feeling that clawed his heart for centuries by a thought of Heavens. _Grief._ He grieved for everything Heaven had sacrificed in the name of that endless war. From the cheer of common assemblies flooded by formality since long ago and former sense of fellowship to the careless smile of Gabriel or enthusiasm in Michael's eyes when she created the first prototype of chess.

But this was not even everything that bothered him. The sense of closeness to God, bright and strong in the first weeks, slowly dissipated – as if She put a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then left, as usual minding Her business and leaving the angel to his own.

But to what exactly?

In the ground floor, the telephone rang. Aziraphale didn't move.

Crowley accepted his split from Hell with the enthusiasm of a young setter – he was finally free to act as he pleased and not make any excuses. Aziraphale never deluded himself - he understood clearly that Crowley kept his position on Earth not only by inspired lies and claiming the disaster humanity brought upon itself. And the little temptation he asked the angel to cover for him as a part of their Arrangement were only a little and the most harmless part of his job. Fortunately, Hell lacked the understanding of both its employee and current situations to exploit the demon to full capacity, and the most repulsive assignments Crowley sabotaged every time he could. But the new gained freedom was sweet and longed-for for him.

But that was the reason why he couldn't understand Aziraphale at this point. The angel always took his job to heart. He believed in what he did, believed in the Ineffable Plan, in humans and in the possibility to guide them towards the light, believed in the Heaven's good will. Even now he was disappointed by those who made the big decisions, but his assignment didn't come just from Gabriel - thousands of angels gathered the signs of God's Will, read them and... Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how exactly the process happened, but every decision about a lesser or greater miracle or blessing was backed up by whole Heavenly departments. He witnessed himself how some very controversial tasks bore beautiful fruits and actually led to the growth of beauty and goodness in the world - even if only in a very long-term perspective. He tried not to think too much about exceptions - like the Crusades. It was Sandalphon's idea, anyway, and Aziraphale didn't particularly want to know how he had pushed it through.

It was dawning in the quieting London.

For the first time in his whole existence, no one was telling Aziraphale what to do. For the first time he didn't have orders. And left by himself, he felt... frightened and lost. He used to be busy and felt himself unnecessary now. It was one thing to enjoy a book and fine cooking after having worked well, finding time for it specifically - and quite the other when it became literally the only thing to do. The lack of work turned out to be a real punishment for the angel.

Of course, he meddled on his own accord before. But he always knew that even a little miracle could have unforeseeable for him consequences. A saved person could become a criminal or make a deed, which in its turn could lead to a disaster... He accepted this risk and to wander through the streets listening to people's needs and granting them was one of his favorite hobbies for a long time. But he needed to keep within limits and it was... petty. By Heaven's orders, fates of the continents had shaped under his hands and humanity had taken bravely another step forward...

The light from the window crossed the room and faded.

Even before his talk with Farael he started visiting places where his assignments regularly had brought him before. To his amazement, he never encountered another angel there - now it was clear why. But if Heavens abandoned this business, even for a time being, was it not a reason to take it in his hands? At least until he was directly forbidden to do so? – he was sure this will happen, even if in a dozen years’ time – and what would he do then?

The sad thing was that Aziraphale felt that he was letting Crowley down by being unable to just relax and feel happy about being on their own side. Not to mention that he still hadn't found a way to heal the damage from the holy water.

People say, God never gives you tests too hard to manage. Aziraphale knew they were right. The part of their tests came from Hell, though. And another part they picked up themselves, and there was no guarantee at all. For a long time already, he was too much alike them in this matter, he understood.

The phone was ringing hysterically downstairs. Aziraphale came down and picked it up.

"For fuck's sake, angel, are you alright?"

"Yes, Crowley, thank you, I'm fine," Aziraphale looked into the window, "good morning."

"Listen, I understand if you need some time for yourself, just... you didn't answer your phone since the day before yesterday. One more hour, and I would come checking."

"I'm fine," Aziraphale confirmed once again. "I was just... thinking."

A very familiar chuckle: "It's a dangerous thing to do, angel. God forfend you will start asking questions. May I tempt you to a spot of breakfast instead?"

Aziraphale smiled unwillingly: "You can," he also noticed how clear and freely Crowley's voice sounded. "How is you cough, dear?"

"What? Angel, why does it matter? I'll get you in ten minutes".

Aziraphale put the speaker down. Of course, he had not really enough data.. but he wasn't going to write a research paper on it. Not for the first time it seemed Crowley didn't cough at the moments when his behavior was... the least demonic. It wasn't an answer, just a direction for search. Aziraphale glanced to the bookshelves, but rebuffed himself. He could do it properly in the evening. Now it was more important to show Crowley he was really fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ____  
This fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862680 is actually a widened flashback about Crowley worrying and Aziraphale calming him down on the matter of angel's (im)possible Fall.


	6. Tadfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel and the demon chat about opera during their breakfast and go to Tadfield. Meet Anathema and Newt!

Half an hour later Aziraphale regretted dearly that he had accepted the idea of breakfast. A tender apple pie with slowly melting ice cream on top was, without any doubt, as good as always in this little coffee shop they took a fancy. But for Azirahpale today it was not different from ash and paper. The angel broke another little bit with his fork and left it on the plate.

Graciously wrapped around a chair, Crowley was, luckily, busy with his coffee and a newspaper – and not the "Infernal Times" this time, just a British one.

"A new production of Britten by Lindsey Turner. But four stars are not good enough to lure me to the _Noye's Fludde_”, he smirked. "Terracotta figures come to life in _Oedipe_... Don't ask me what they are doing in Thebes, it's director's theatre. Not the best of my ideas, but a really fun one. All these exaggerated egos and angry spectators..."

Aziraphale sighed, but didn't have a heart to engage in a discussion on the topic as they did before multiple times already.

"What about a new Wilde-based opera, angel?" Crowley went on flipping through the reviews.

"Don't know, it's hard to imagine how his dialogues will fit together with contemporary music."

"Well, there's always _Il Barbiere di Siviglia_”, Crowley shrugged. "Another five-star production. What's that?" he drew his phone out of the pocket and pushed up a brow opening his inbox. "Anathema. Asks us to come."

Aziraphale put his fork away:

"Has something happened? Adam?.."

The demon shrugged:

"Perhaps, he is ready to talk. Is anything wrong with your pie, angel?"

"The cook has something else on his mind today, I presume," Aziraphale lied. "It's no good." He put a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth just for show and pushed the plate aside. "We can go."

The first time they visited Tadfield in the end of September. Aziraphale insisted – Crowley seemed to prefer the idea that Adam had become an ordinary boy and didn't need their supervision. The angel hoped that too, but he was just fascinated with the boy either way and wanted to see him.

That was exactly what they couldn't manage.

Anathema and Newt met them friendly– the witch especially was enthusiastic about the renewed acquaintance. Two supernatural beings teased her curiosity, although restrained by her well-taught politeness. And very soon she admitted she had doubts concerning Adam. No, nothing specific, he hadn't done anything and was in general his usual self – the most adorable rascal you'd ever met... And yet, Anathema felt not sure about the powers on his disposal.

Where was Adam that day? No one knew. They managed only to catch Pepper and Wensleydale for a moment while those were riding by, and they said they hadn't seen Adam since the morning. Not that anybody truly believed them, but arguing was clearly useless. To the other questions, Adam’s friends responded with the same confidence: everything was fine and normal. A person didn't need any magical abilities to see them hiding something.

It was enough to know the simple fact that neither Anathema nor Aziraphale nor Crowley couldn't locate Adame. The Antichrist didn't want to talk – so they couldn't find him.

It was disturbing news. Aziraphale believed in Adam, but there was no guarantee that he could manage such powers by himself, that they wouldn't drive him crazy and finally push... perhaps, not to destruct the world, but to do something not less terrible. But in the first place Aziraphale was worried for the boy himself. And given his very annoyed face expression, Crowley was too.

"Well then," the demon hissed. He waved away Newt's attempt to ask something and rushed out from the cottage. He crossed the front garden, perched himself upon the low fence and threw some phrases in the air. He didn't shout as humans could expect, no, he spoke quietly, and his voice, the angel had no doubts, sounded with the music which made people crazy through millennia. Aziraphale didn't hear what Crowley was saying, but that must have been questions - to that Adam could want to know the answers. The Serpent, humans and knowledge - Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. Some things never changed.

Crowley waited for some moments, then pushed himself up from the fence and called:

"Let's go, angel, let him look for us. Anathema, Newt, call me if you need us."

Almost two months passed - and Adam was showing an astonishing lack of curiosity, or rather stubbornness (which probably hurt Crowley’s professional pride). But now they were invited, and despite the despondence clinging to him, Aziraphale took it as a good sign.

The feeling of love and warmth wrapped him again the very moment the Bentley crossed the unseen border of Adam's domain. Tadfield was beautiful even on a November day, with graphic silhouettes of leafless trees, puddles in the road and chrysanthemums in the gardens.

"Just don't touch anything!" Anathema shouted back coming out to the doorsteps when Crowley parked in front of the Jasmine Cottage. She muffled herself up in a big woolen jacket and a scarf and looked ill: "Hi, come in, but it's no warmer than outside, I warn you..."

"Halo, darling, did something happen?" Aziraphale asked with care.

"In a house where Newt lives always happens something," Anathema shrugged edgy. "The heating got broken. Yesterday."

"I think this can be helped," the angel patted her on a hand, leading her inside and at the same time healing her cold. He glanced towards Crowley - the demon stopped on the porch for a moment, concentrated and clicked his fingers. "It seems to start working right now, wondrously. In full capacity."

Anathema looked suspiciously and pulled her jacket closer.

"The children are at school," she said, still sniffling before she realized she could breathe freely. "Will be back in an hour or two. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, of course, thank you very much."

Newt appeared in the kitchen door with a steamy mug in his hands:

"Here, drink it, it's my mother's recepy, the cold will go away in a moment..." he said coming to Anathema with his usual gentle and a bit guilty look. "Oh, halo..." he noticed the guests and looked sympathetically at the coughing demon," did you get a cold too?"

The girl took the mug and smelled it. She seemed to get by now that she was already healthy, but didn't say anything and just took a sip.

"I made the tea too," Newt said with a hint of pride in his voice. Anathema snorted a little, but clearly mellowed. Looking down to the mug, she waved everyone into the kitchen.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. The demon stood pressing his fingers to the forehead with a look of deep revulsion. The horseshoe upon the door did not only burn the hell out of hellhounds occasionally but also caused a terrible headache for the demon. Aziraphale thought to speak about it with Anathema if they were going to visit here. Crowley seemed to follow his glance and thoughts:

"Don't you dare," he hissed. "They should have at least some protection." The next was already for Anathema: "So, what’s about the boy?"

"He admitted too have the ability to influence the reality about two weeks after your visit," Anathema put cups on the table and was pouring tea.

"She made him," Newt said with the admiration in his voice. "She threatened not to give him further numbers of her magazines. Although," he added a bit abashed, "he seemed to be glad to speak."

"But no details, I couldn't make him tell anything specific," Anathema sighed. "Until a week ago he started to ask questions and I said I was not competent, he needed to ask you instead."

"That's very nice of you, although you should underestimate your knowledge," Aziraphale smiled.

Anathema looked sternly at him:

"I know what I was taught and what is in the books. Human witchcraft tricks and tools that common mortals use. I know nothing about powers Adam possesses and how to deal with it."

"Perhaps, a couple of simple human tricks could at least keep him busy," Crowley remarked. "No, angel, not pulling a rabbit out of a hat."

Aziraphale knew he was expected to react and slightly rolled his eyes.

"You can pull a rabbit out of a hat?" Newt asked with interest. Crowley moaned.

"I'm really out of practice," Aziraphale said. "Well, we will speak with Adam later, how are you doing?"

Anathema shrugged with a strange look on her face at the same moment as Newt said:

"Great! Most of time. Sometimes something happens."

Anathema gave him a quick glance - a bit ashamed and tender, before looking at the angel again.

"For a couple of days I thought I would need to go. My aunt Elizon decided she had cancer, the whole family was flustered, my mother wanted me home immediately.. then it occurred to be a mistake. At that moment I regretted for real we had burnt the second book."

"Thank God, you came out unscathed," Aziraphale said sympathetically. "And have you decided to stay here, then?"

"Oh, I haven't decided anything," Anathema made a wry face. "I really can't decide anything at all!"

"You’re getting better at it! You haven't even looked in the cards this week, not once!" Newt hurried to reassure her, then asked suspiciously: "Haven’t you?"

Anathema shook her head and sat right her glasses:

"I had to come to England, find the Antichrist and stop the Armageddon. It was already a lot of work, and I never thought about what would happen next. Sould I stay here and look after Adam? Does he need it at all? Would it be of any use? Or should I... care about my own life?" she glanced at Newt again. "A career?.. And what would come out of this?.."

"Your grandgrandwho-she-is-to-you just spoiled you, I see," Crowley smirked. "Take your cue from Eve. You know, she had no practice in decision making for a long time too, but then she learnt it well. I'd say I have never met a more... resourceful woman."

Aziraphale kept silence. He understood Anathema's predicament too well and could offer no consolation for her.

"What concerns Adam..." Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. "It would not hurt him to have at least one adult around who knows he wasn't just sunstroke this summer. But you don't have to stay here because of that. You don't owe this anybody, unless you want it for yourself," he coughed.

"You know, we can install a game for you, one of those RPGs with a multiple choices in the plot?" Newt suggested. "You need to make decisions there all the time. So I was told. May be I even could watch you playing if I didn't press any buttons."

"That's stupid," Anathema frowned. "We are talking about my life... and yours too... and Adam's, and here you go with the games!"

"From a certain point of view the whole Earth with the humanity on it is just a playground, so it may be not so stupid at all," Crowley was really amused with the idea. "But your ability to break electronics is really something. Tell me..."

Aziraphale lost the thread of the conversation pretty fast.


	7. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome the Them!

Clinking of the bicycle bells announced the Them arriving. Talking loudly, they rushed into the house.

"...'cause he's still an idiot!" Pepper finished a sally before the four shifted their attention to the people in the house.

"Hi, Anathema, hi, Newt! Hallo, mister Crowley, hallo, mister Aziraphale!"

"Hi, how was school?" Anathema helped them to put their coats on hangers.

"Miss Neville was picking up on me again," Brian moaned.

"I've got an A in science," Wensleydale put his glasses right and asked: "Adam, you have fixed everything with our parents, right?.."

Anathema put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him farther into the house:

"We agreed with them you'll have dinner here today. And yes, we agreed with your parents on the menu especially."

Adam approached the angel and the demon.

"You've come," he said, and his face didn't show if he was glad or not.

He didn't radiate the reality-wrapping energy in waves like on the Not-Apocalypse day, but it was definitely there, and the world was listening.

"You seemed to kinda want it," Crowley shrugged. He felt uneasy around the boy. Yes, Adam was not the Antichrist now who could see right through the demon's being and squint him with his finger. But still... Crowley didn't know how it was possible considering Adam's renouncement of his Hellish Father – but the demon could still feel the power Adam had from Lucifer. And it gave him shivers, which he had no intention to show to the boy. "You had questions, didn't you?"

Adam nodded:

"You promised answers."

Aziraphale coughed slightly:

"Last time you didn't want to talk. Are you angry with us? Adam, I must apologize again, that day I..."

The boy shook his head:

"I was just busy! And you wanted to save the world. I would shoot anybody myself if I thought it would help... " He frowned and kept quiet for a moment. "Or, perhaps, no..."

"All talks after the dinner!" Anathema proclaimed. "Pepper, I forgot to buy juice, can you quickly ride to the shop? And you wash your hands and help me lay the table."

Brian and Wensleydale went to the bathroom groaningly, and Pepper dashed out, pretty happy about the division of labour.

"That's silly to wait for after dinner," Adam grumbled and looked at Crowley and Aziraphale. "Let's talk now."

Crowley curved his lips demonstrating the total indifference, Aziraphale nodded:

"As you wish. How are you, dear?"

Adam shrugged:

"I'm okay. I mean, this all is strange, and I started to notice a lot of things I haven't before and now they make me think why it is so, and I.. well, kinda know a heap of stuff, just from nowhere .. not as much as then, but it's really a heap. It is... distracting sometimes. But generally fine," the boy stopped, considering something, then eyed the angel and the demon suspiciously: "Would you answer honestly? Without crap like you'll get to know later and he is still a kid".

Crowley snorted, Aziraphale nodded with all solemnity. It seemed to reassure Adam, so he asked:

"Will I die?"

"Perhaps," Aziraphale answered cautiously. Adam frowned, and the angel quickly added: "Wait. You see, you are a unique creature. There was, and I hope, there will not be another Antichrist".

"And you didn't come with a manual," Corwley said. "And even if you had, you were supposed to ruin the world by now and rule the rest of it eternally. But you refused to do it – and no one knows now. Perhaps, it will be your own choice someday."

Adam nodded thoughtfully and asked again: "Do people like me 'cause I make them? Here in the village, now in the new school?"

Aziraphale shook his head:

"They pay you more attention than an average child, because you have so much power and energy, dear. But they like you because of who you are – if you were a bad and cruel boy they would feel very differently about you. Would be afraid, possibly."

"We're all in a grammar school now – is this because I wanted it so? Just, you know… Brian's marks are not so good, and all the teachers pick up on him, and I don't know..."

"You've never thought you can go to different schools, haven't you?" Crowley guessed. "The school and your parents didn't have any chance then. Of course you four stay together." The demon shrugged: "I suppose it's no real harm for now, in the secondary school. Just let your friends think for themselves later on."

Adam nodded slowly. He clearly struggled to ask his next question:

"My friends, are they my friends not just because I... forced them?"

"You wanted to have your gang – the world listened to you and found you the best possible candidates, that's for sure. But after that – no one could make you friends by force, darling," the angel said gently and glanced briefly towards the demon. "To gain trust, to find common interests, to deserve loyalty – only you by yourselves could manage it."

"And that day? I.. When I started Armageddon I made them do what I wanted, I.. I sealed their mouths, and made them sit, and... When I changed my mind they came back ‘cause they wanted to... or not?" Adam looked small and insecure asking this.

Pepper came in from the kitchen:

"Adam, let’s eat, we..."

Crowley snapped his fingers, and the girl froze with her eyes blank. Aziraphale made a sound of non-approval, but the demon paid no attention.

"Hey, Pepper," Crowley stood up and lazily came closer to her, "remember that day there were no Apocalypse. Adam let you go, then fell and you came running to him – why? What did you feel that moment?"

"I was angry with him. He was a swine," Pepper somehow sounded annoyed even now, although speaking very level.

"Why did you come back?"

"He is my friend. He needed help. How would I leave him?"

Crowley turned to Adam:

"Is this enough for you?" he snapped his fingers again, and Pepper blinked and shook her head. "Go eat," Crowley commanded, gently turning her and pushing into the right direction.

"Don't you dare to do this to any of them again!" Adam was cross, his eyes like thunderclouds.

The demon smirked:

"You see, it makes you angry – you are fine." But when the boy went into the kitchen, the demon looked him in the back gloomy.

"What's wrong, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked.

"I just thought... Lucifer was quite good at inspiring others to follow him once too."

The angel sighed:

"Let's hope it will be safer to follow Adam."

The demon wanted to say something in response but changed his mind and joined the others.

The questions were not over though, and it turned out Adam was not the only one who had them.

"I've read the fourth Horseman was different before – what did happen to him?"

"Where did Romans have toilets?"

"Do you really have wings? And you?.. Wicked!"

"Have you seen a volcano erupting?"

"Listen, Shakespeare was real or not?"

"Why can't Frenchman write properly?"

...

"Yes, Hell exists. And Heaven too. Yes, people go there. Oh my God, the criteria are quite complicated, dear. But not killing anyone and not doing anything nasty will really help."

"No, Brian, I don’t know about Kennedy. We were both in England."

"No, Pepper, of course they didn't cut themselves anything, what a twisted mind made this up. You can easily shoot a bow as you are."

"No, under the ground... ahem, there is magma very deep, and then the Earth core... Hell is in a different plane of reality."

...

"It's true that you can't kill Death?"

"True. It would be weird; if he died, he would be there at that moment, right? He is an integral part of this world. That’s how it works."

"And are there others? Worlds? I've read in a magazine..." Adam livened up.

"There are rumors among angels," Aziraphale said cautiously. "But we are not encouraged to discuss it."

Crowley snorted:

"Which means they never talk about and never ask. Heaven doesn't like questions, you now."

"Is it boring?" Brian asked immediately.

"Terribly. But Hell is no better and the ceilings are dripping."

"It depends on where exactly you are, really... Heavens are vast..."

"Wait," Pepper frowned. "There was a War in Heaven. Very long ago. Angels fought against demons, and the demons with Lucifer Fell."

"Angles against angels, to be precise", Crowley corrected dryly. "There was no such word as _demon_ at that time."

"Were you two fighting too?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes deprecating, Aziraphale nodded somberly:

"Everyone was fighting then".

"But have you met? At the war?"

Aziraphale shuddered:

"Thanks God, no. Wouldn't be sitting here now in that case."

He seemed truly flabbergasted by the mere idea, so Crowley gently picked up the conversation thread:

"There are a lot of angels in Heaven. It's very easy never to meet someone. So we met on Earth, in the Garden of Eden, when the War was long over."

"And you gave that Adam your sword which ended up in War's hands," Pepper accused Aziraphale.

He made a helpless gesture:

"I hoped it would help them not to freeze and to protect themselves against wild animals... And they were going to have a baby pretty soon! I couldn't imagine they would use it against each other."

"And of course you gave it to a man! Why not to Eve? It was she who had a baby!"

This question took Aziraphale by surprise.

"Ahem, Pepper, but it's not really convenient for a woman in a particular condition to wield a sword... And she has her hands busy. She gathered some fruits in the Garden, I suppose..." the angel was completely lost.

"Then why didn't Adam take them?"

"Give up, angel, she got you. You are a nasty male patriarchal chauvinist and exploiter," the demon grinned. "Don't listen to him, girl, he hadn't even been a woman once."

"And you?" Pepper glanced at him suspiciously.

The demon shrugged:

"On several occasions."

"Can you really do it?" Wensleydale asked.

"You seem less surprised that I can be a snake," Crowley said. "But I hardly remember when the last time was before Nanny Ashtoreth..."

"I do," the angel snorted. "You started that obsession with _let's find a perfect model_".

"Don't you speak as if you weren't happy with the results. You were fascinated by their pictures."

"I'm just still sorry for poor Lizzie," the angel sighed.

"She got her chance to paint and to write," Crowley answered. "Is it too little for you?"

"Hey!" Pepper cut in. "I want to know what you're talking about!"

"A moment," Crowley pulled out his smartphone. "For this story we'll need pictures."

***

It was evening already when the angel and the demon left Tadfield. The Them went home a couple of hours before, and Adam at his own accord invited guests to come by again.

"It would be better if you formally visit us... till we’re here," Anathema said. 'As my, ahhhhm, relatives? Adam's parents could get nervous because of two strange men taking too much interest in their boy."

Crowley rolled up his eyes saying something about human's preoccupation with sex, and Aziraphale assured her:

"We will gladly visit you not formally, my dear. Although it wouldn't be hard for Adam to avert his parent's eyes and avoid any questions."

"Let's not make the boy lie to his parents more than he would anyway," Crowley answered. "Niece, we will come by in January."

Anathema nodded:

"Very well, uncle."

And seeing these two smirk, Aziraphale thought they could really be relatives, with their common scoffing, practicality and readiness to question everything.

"Anathema is such a dear," Aziraphale said fondly as they drove out of the village. "She is trying so hard for everybody's sake. Things are not easy for her right now–- and I understand her so much! To find herself suddenly without her guiding thread which she had followed all her life long..." The angel shook his head. "And this story with Newt... She both cherishes what they two are building together and isn't sure she even needs it and could it be enough for her... I hope, they'll figure it out."

The demon grumbled something unintelligible for an answer.

It got dark, and the late November landscape was barely visible beside the road as Bentley steadily swept forward. It was warm in the car, of course, Crowley wouldn't stand the cold, but Aziraphale felt the autumn evening creeping under his skin. The warmth of hospitality and children's laughter stayed behind, and he was returning to all the thoughts he had left home in the morning.

Wasn't it ingratitude for a nice day? He glanced at Crowley. The demon seemed lost in his own thoughts. He was frowning a little and looked at the road, but probably didn't paid it more attention than usual. He coughed again after a particularly blatant overtaking, and the angel promised himself to take up his books as soon as he got home. He suddenly recalled Pepper's question, and it made him swallow hard. To lose what he now had dearest in his life and didn't even get to know it... the idea was nearly unbearable. This even without mentioning how much the world would lose. Including any chance to be saved from its untimely demise.

"Adam is doing surprisingly well," he said aloud. "It's a shame he couldn't do anything about your cough."

"Stop fussing about," Crowley dismissed the idea with a shrug. After a brief pause, he spoke on: "Mentioning Antichrists... Would checking your email sometimes kill you, angel? Warlock wrote to you a week ago, and you still haven't answered."

"How do you know?"

Crowley chuckled:

"We're chatting on Facebook. The boy really needs you support, Brother Francis. That sudden move across the pond knocked him completely off his stride. Just don't expect a kid from the 21-st century to write you real letters."

Aziraphale was silent for a moment.

"Crowley, are you sure we should go on meddling? We had done enough harm already... The poor boy needs to learn how to live without those... illusions we fed him."

Crowley turned and looked at him sharply:

"Do you remember last eleven years well, angel? Yes, we made his childhood a bloody circus. But who would teach him know? Missis Dowling who wants her son to be an exhibition spaniel looking like a picture for her guests? Mister Dowling who vaguely remembers how old the boy is and what's his bloody name, but has planned all his future ahead? Hell didn't pushed Dowling into being an ambassador for no reason, angel. Antichrist wasn't supposed to be loved. Otherwise – look what Adam has come to. And now you want us not to meddle?"

It was as if Nanny Ashtoreth stood on front of Aziraphale once again, holding the distraught Warlock in her arms. Even if the babies were not mixed up, Hell would still vastly miscalculate the "be not loved" part. Of course, he was fond of Warlock himself – but Crowley spend much more time with the boy due to their jobs' description – and it never really bothered Aziraphale in regards to their plan of balanced Good and Evil influence.

The angel sighed. He didn't want to leave Warlock alone either. He just wasn't sure what would be the right thing to do. He raised up his arms.

"You're right, you're right. I'll reply tomorrow."

Crowley nodded.

They drove through London now with its Christmas decorations. Humans have come out with some delightful ways of enlightening this dark and gloomy season, Aziraphale had to give them a credit. Looking at the flashing lights, he promised himself to mend. He had his friend and – at least for a dozen years – two boys in need of looking after. How could he complain and feel cast-off? Besides, Christmas was coming, an always-bustling time of year when blessings and miracles were never too much.

Crowley stopped in front of the bookshop.

"Well, it was a lovely day, wasn't it? Good night!" Aziraphale stepped out of the car.

"Are you all right, angel?" the voice behind him asked gently.

"What? Yes, of course!" Aziraphale turned back. Crowley stood leaning on the Bentley’s roof and looked at him with care. "Tickety-boo, never better. A splendid day out!"

He went up the porch trying to ignore a sudden overwhelming sadness from the thought of his dark and empty shop. What a nonsense. It was his home, his lovely home and his beloved books. And he had questions for them.

Having the door opened, the angel looked back again: "Would you come by tomorrow evening? If you're not busy, of course."

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale went into the shop.

The demon angrily hissed something nearly wordless into the air. Never better, really. Perhaps, dear Anathema could answer this way to her possibly unneeded Newt.

Bentley peeled out heading home, to Mayfair.


	8. A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's perspective on the last days and an unexpected letter addressed to Aziraphale.

Next day Crowley left the Bentley at its usual place and walked to Aziraphale. It gave him an opportunity to vent his ill humour on someone else except his plants before reaching the angel. So, it was a bad idea to come in his way. The demon was followed by a long tail of flat tires, lost keys and Oysters, coffee cups suddenly slipping out of hands and spilling all over, constantly reloading smartphones and glitching apps. Perhaps, some milk in coffee went sour. In half of the cases, Crowley didn't even need to do anything, just stopped hiding and deterring his demonic aura. Usually he and Aziraphale were very careful about it, for many centuries now, but today Crowley had a bad mood, so why should others do better?

The angel made him mad. Of course, he was used to it after six thousand years, but the last several days threw Crowley off his stride. At first Aziraphale disappeared for two days and nights, which gave Crowley – considering all the circumstances - a possibility to make up a whole bunch of disastrous scenarios. And then yesterday he acted being fine, as if a basic demonic feel wasn't enough to notice a cloud of resignation hanging upon him. Not to mention a personal acquaintance.

A bottle of extremely good whiskey Crowley carried with him was the only object carefully protected from the demonic taint because Crowley was determined to make the angel speak today. He didn't know what he was going to do next because Aziraphale's problem was pretty sure caused by Heaven. Something about being not good enough angel, of this sort. And in this case Crowley could as well talk to a brick wall repeating that Aziraphale was, fortunately, not perfect but absolutely astonishing at his job – it meant nothing. In the end, what was the demon's words worth. And here they were again, an angel and a demon. Why on Earth did he think this could change now. And after all the nice words that he, Crowley, didn't need to struggle against his problems on his own, the angel didn't rush to share his troubles in return. What was it if not the "holier than thou" attitude once again?

Crowley kicked a beer can on the pavement which ricocheted right under the wheels of a push scooter.

The demon needed to stop because of another cough attack that seemed to threaten to tear his breast apart. His corporation understood what was going on its own way, coughing, croaking and gasping for air, although the real damage was done not to it but to the Crowley's real essence, and this was much more painful and torturous. It would pass with time, in about two centuries, but till then one could only wait with patience, and the angel could fuss about as much as he like, but there was nothing he could change. This thought didn't make the demon's mood better either.

Aziraphale needed his patience too. As always since the humans were banished from the Garden. The angel felt bad, and Crowley was determined to make things better. But if Aziraphale thought him not worthy of sharing his troubles, it was useless to argue and make a fight. It would only push the angel further away. He needed his time to accept the situation and to find his way to cope with it and to think through all of his concerns. Crowley just wanted to know what this was about.

He lingered a moment before the bookshop's door, breathed in deeply, managed not to cough, braced himself and came in with a fake nonchalance.

The air in the shop was filled with anxiety, and Aziraphale was pacing back and forth.

"Hi, angel, what's up?"

The angel waved his hand in the direction of a table. There was a letter written in a perfectly elegant handwriting on the snow white paper. Crowley looked at Aziraphale with a question in his eyes. The angel nodded impatiently:

"I found it on the porch when closed the shop."

_"Principality Aziraphle! The letter from a perfect stranger may surprise you, but I hope you will not find my intrusion too bold. Under the circumstances, I found it urgent to finally express my deepest respect and admiration to You. Whatever official line the Heaven proclaimed, it cannot change the attitude towards You from those who witnessed Your inspired ministration on Earth. For the angels who keep the commandment "coach and cherish" close to their hearts You have become since long ago a guiding star – an angel who never limited himself to strictly following orders, but brought Love and Grace whenever he went. We are a few, but for a long time now you can point out a kindred spirit by a mere reaction to Your name."_

"A love letter, angel?" Crowley arched his brow. "Should I read on?"

Aziraphale sighed huffily: "Just don't read the last paragraph, it's total nonsense."

Of course, the demon started with it, then returned to the beginning.

_"I recall meeting a fisherman who had already said goodbye to his life when a stranger brought him out of the stormy sea as if it was perfectly calm. A girl from a village in France, a sole survivor during the Plague, which someone discovered among the dead and found a shelter for her. A respected father of a family whom a passerby persuaded no to throw himself of the bridge on a somber day of his youth. And other people who till the end of their lives kept remembering the name of their savior – Aziraphale._

_ The courage You showed on the not happened Armageddon day by stepping forward against the terrible unfairness of this Plan makes me and other angels of the same ideas admire and be ashamed. Heavens admit their mistake in understanding Her Plan, and I hope and believe You will also be returned to us, and we will be able to show You our respect in person. But till then, please, know that You are not alone and Your excommunication is a mistake that grieves many._

_Only one thing makes my worry about You - Your strange alliance with the demon known by his many dreadful services to Hell. The mere thought of a possible encounter with him invokes disgust and tremble. I believe You keep him by your side only because of a flaw of Your kind and gentle heart, and I pray the Almighty not to let it guide You to a disaster. Alas, demons are incorrigible; the evil in their hearts cannot be purged by goodness._

_Let Her Grace be with You!_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Angel Eurial." _

"So, angel, I frighten away your friends?"

"I should have asked you to start with the end," Aziraphale sighed. "You know I prefer friends who are not too afraid to show their faces, dear."

Crowley shrugged sardonically:

"But it's because of my disgusting presence."

"Yes, of course, especially in the centuries we didn't cross our paths. Anyway, Crowley, you are my best friend, and if someone doesn't like it, it's not my problem," Aziraphale finished decisively. He shook his head with anxiety: "It's just a silly prank."

"Don't you believe that other angels can have such ideas or that they can admire you?"

"For the start, I don't recall any of the stories he mentions."

Crowley puffed:

"I wouldn't recall a quarter of what I have done on Earth"

"It's a strange time and a strange way to say all of this. Makes much more sense as a mockery."

"Perhaps, his sense of justice was finally hurt too much. Or he saw how you escaped Heavens claws unscathed and this inspired him to break the rules just for for once too"

The angel looked at him:

"You say it as if I often had courage to break the rules."

"Mmmm, nearly every day?"

"And as if it could make me an example to follow. As if anything could make me an example to follow. Or to admire. But even if this letter is true... God, Crowley, it only makes things worse," Aziraphale began pacing again. "Where were these angels when we tried to stop the Apocalypse? Why didn't they stay beside me on the Tadfield airfield if they found it unfair? And I wouldn't be there either without you. We are all just useless pathetic cowards, not daring to stand up and oppose what we think is wrong. It's... its... Is it surprising that God doesn't speak to us anymore? One could only despise us for how we act."

"Angel," Crowley sighed heavily, " for the record: you are one of the bravest being I've ever met. And all other were humans."

"Now is not a good time for mockery, Crowley, honestly."

"I had no intention to mock. For instance, in this angel's place you wouldn’t stop at half-measures and plant letters in secret."

"Heavens forbid any relations to me," Aziraphale remarked plainly.

"I figured it out by the word excommunication in the letter," Crowley said gently and dared to bet on his guess: "And since it obviously didn't surprise you, may be you will finally tell me about your encounter with the new emissary? I want to be sure I don't plan to pluck all his feathers out for nothing."

Aziraphale looked at him with a slight surprise, then smiled faintly:

"There's no need, she only follows her orders. How do you know?"

"What else could throw you off balance so much?" Crowley shrugged. "Whiskey is on me, and you tell everything."

Of course, the angel told not everything, and the demon saw it perfectly.


	9. An Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley meets some former colleagues. And everything goes pear-shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the fluff with kids isn't it a nice time for some real angst?  
HurtCrowley tag comes into play, beware.

There was something about the mystery Euriel's letter Aziraphale didn't pay any attention – but Crowley did. Not all the angels thought alike. And even if they were too scared to act for now, Aziraphale had potential allies. This idea made Crowley pull his strings in Hell more insistently again – not hoping to find a support, it would be too naive, but looking for information which could prove useful.

One of his informants should have squealed on him, obviously, how else anyone could know he would be passing that exact little garden that late December evening.

"Got a light?" a hoarse voice behind him asked and answered himself. "Oh, of course not, but I have fire."

Crowley turned around and saw a broad-shouldered man, lazily lighting a cigarette from his own finger. The fire made seen his too long canine teeth sticking out of his mouth.

"Shmuz," Crowley said in a level voice, "what are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," the other demon smirked.

Crowley felt a movement behind and jumped to the side, but an acute pain scorched his arm nevertheless. It was worse than it should be from such a little cut.

The attacker stood now to his right, a dark-skinned demon with an ugly face where all the bones seemed squashed. He held a long sword.

"What's the matter, Smuz?" Crowley hissed, trying to sound threatening, estimating his chances to run off and trying to avoid coughing.

Smuz drew at his cigarette:

"You think, you're good here? The whole Earth to have fun and an angel to keep your bed warm? And we're sitting in Hell, no fun and the War is cancelled."

The ground moved in flowerbeds, and two more demons emerged, with a short sword and a bent knife.

"So, I'd say it's nothing personal, Crowley, but you know, it wouldn't be true. It's nice to have a bitch like you on a hit list." Smuz drew out a long knife.

"Hey, you're exaggerating," Crowley protested nonchalantly. The way these four stood gave very little chance to escape, but they took their time. He tried to focus to teleport – not far, a jump to another continent is too easy to track, a couple of streets would do – but pain in the arm and the fucking cough lead his mind astray. "You're not really in Hell, as I see, and it's much more fun here without a war. Do you know a little place just 'round the corner? The music's cool, the drinks less so, but..."

A demon swung his sword – Crowley dodged, but Smuz caught him by the elbow and poked with the knife. It pierced Crowley's cloth and scratched his ribs – but the demon didn't even try to put it deeper.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked pushing Crowley forward to his comrades. "Blades from the First War. Every cut hurts not only this corporation, but you. When we finish, Hastur will get you whimpering and crawling at his feet as you ought to."

The sword pierced Crowley's thigh, and the pain was overwhelming. He gripped the opponent who cut him and turned into a serpent, hang from the arm with the sword and bit it with evil joy. The attacker screamed and dropped the sword, and Crowley slithered down. Pebbles of the road were scorching cold; pain pulsed and became a brutal burning inside. The serpent dashed to the bushes like a black lightning, but one of the demons was quicker and put his blade down, pinning him to the ground.

"Well, don't you like our company? Simple demons are not good enough for you?" Shmuz came and pushed the serpent with his boot, picked him by the neck and started pulling up before freeing the sword point in his tail. He threw the serpent back into the space between the armed demons.

Pain and cold were so much, they seemed not to fit into the snake's body, so Crowley returned almost unwillingly to his human form, writhing on the ground.

"Where is your kind angel?" another demon grinned. "Perhaps, we should visit him later too?"

Noticing the metal glittering, Crowley managed to roll away and pulled himself to the feet. He tried hard not to pay any special attention to the leg sliced to the bone.

"Why should I care?' he snapped back and turned to Shmuz who was clearly in charge. “Shmuz, whatever Hastur promised you. You will just end up devoured, if you don't listen to me."

"The First Tempter," Shmuz barked a laugh. "Do you think it will work on me?"

Crowley had an answer, but the same moment Shmuz swung his knife, a rough cough made him buckle and step forward, which he immediately regretted.

The bitten demon finally picked up his sword again and decided to hit with the hilt for once, just for fun. The blow from the side knocked Crowley off the feet completely, he fell like a ragged doll.

"What's ha... Stop it at once!" the voice came from a far, making the demon shudder and turn his head. Yes, the figure in beige stood there. His evening turned a bit worse again.

"Angel, go away..." Crowley breathed out desperately.

"Shove off, dude," one of the demons played with hos blade, "while you can."

Of course, the stupid, unbearable angel didn't listen to anyone. With the firm step, he came closer, and the garden got unpleasantly light.

A stubborn gaze, fists cramped before him... Shmuz looked him up and down, the many layers of crème and beige, the bowtie on his neck and empty hands. He smirked:

"Or you would do... what? Smite us?" he kicked Crowley. "With your pal together?"

"Obviously, not," the angel sighed with anxiety, coming even closer. There were only several steps between him and the demons now. "Go away. It will be better for everybody, honestly."

"I have another idea," the third demon grinned. "We'll finish this one and will have fun wi..."

Aziraphale waved his hand and drew a sword from the thin air. A step forward – and the blade stabbed the heart of the speaker quicker than he'd finished his phrase. The angel caught his knife and put it – as if without a glance – in the neck of the demon to his left. He dodged Shmuz's attack and parried the sword of the fourth demon, beneath his hand pierced Shmuz through. He turned to the last demon, and that one backed away, downing his weapon and trying to get as far as possible. The angel halted with an unreadable face, and the demon dropped his sword and ran.

"Sometimes I nearly forget how bloody good you are with these things," Crowley remarked. He was sprawling upon the ground, resting on his elbow as if watching performance at an ancient symposium. "It's really unfair considering how many centuries ago I last saw you practicing."

"God doesn't entrust swords to those who cannot wield them," Aziraphale looked at the blooded blade in his hand. "I'd wish to unlearn it. Although not in the moments like this."

He released his fingers, the sword was gone to wherever it came from, and the angel hurried to Crowley. The demon was still lying on the ground, but reached up, and Aziraphale thought with relief he mustn't have been hurt too much. He helped him up, and the demon rose in one swing – but let go of the angels' palm only to grip his shoulder and leaned on him for support.

"Sorry, angel," he smiled uneasily, "I was a bit clumsy."

He pressed his second hand to his stomach and, as Aziraphale realized, was awfully pale.

"Crowley, you are hurt?" the angel held him.

Crowley shook his head. His next words made the ground crumble under Aziraphale's feet.

"No, angel. I'm killed."

He showed his blooded palm and gripped angel with the second hand, so almost all his body weight rested on him now.

"Crowley, you’re... What should I do?" Aziraphale reached to him with his thought and saw that the demon was right. The stomach wound was lethal for the corporation, and another one unseen to a human eye – for the demon himself. Crowley stood by the sheer force of will.

Crowley nodded and lowered his lids:

"You saw their blades. I can't heal it because I'm a demon. If you try, it will only finish me. Not a bad idea, really, it's a nasty wound to die of..."

Aziraphale clasped him firmer, barely keeping himself from giving him a shake.

"Don't talk rubbish, Crowley; we'll come up with something..."

The demon shook his head slightly.

"At least, I'm not returning to Hell anymore. What a disappointment for Hastur."

He opened his eyes, unnaturally bright and golden at this moment, and said earnestly:

"Promise me not to take to these pointy things too much, angel."

"Crowley, I'm not going to say goodbye to you, because I'm not going to let you die. And you will not leave me here alone," Aziraphale tried to speak crossly, but his voice wobbled.

Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale bit his lip trying not to swear. Tears clouded his eyes, and he bent his head back to the silent sky. The only thought rang through his head: "Don't let him die. Don't take him away from me."


	10. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the cold December evening, an angel was standing in the midst of London with a dying demon on his arms.  
"Hang on, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered in the demon's ear. "I have a plan. Stay with me, dear."
> 
> or  
how to save the dying demon

In the cold December evening, an angel was standing in the midst of London with a dying demon on his arms.

How many times did they save each other from painful discorporation and troubles with their Head Offices, coming in at the right moment? But now he was late, he failed Crowley at the very time it mattered.

Aziraphale's eyes welled up with tears, but after a moment of panic he realized he knew exactly what to do.

"Hang on, Crowley," he whispered in the demon's ear. "I have a plan. Stay with me, dear."

First of all, they needed to get away from this dreadful garden. The bookshop was near, and Aziraphale could just carry Crowley there, but for his purpose, he needed a bit more demonic-friendly place. He closed his eyes and in a moment stood in the corridor inside of Crowley’s flat. Coming into the bedroom, he put Crowley gently on the bed and sat down near him.

"Crowley," he called softly. "Do you trust me?"

The demon opened his eyes slightly, clearly intrigued by such an idiotic question.

"Well, I mean, do you know I will never harm you?"

Crowley arched his eyebrow but nodded.

"That's very important for my plan," the angel added taking his hand. "Please, keep this in mind; I will never harm you in any way."

"I don't like your plan already," Crowley said.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any better. You shouldn't get yourself lethally hurt," Aziraphale sighed reproachfully. "I found the idea looking for the cure for your cough and developed it a little. It is amazingly simple, really, just… contradicts our ideas of possible a bit."

The demon rolled up his eyes, but Aziraphale continued:

"The holy water and celestial blades carry the energy which destruct the demonic one when they meet. So, we need just to... trick it. If we add to your aura a bit of angelic and mix them, the influence will be less and I should be able to heal you."

"Angel, that's insane."

"Not at all! I'm certain this will work. After all, we've already done it when switched bodies and masked our auras for not to be caught at once. It should be just... a little deeper this time."

Crowley snorted and gasped from pain after that:

"A little deeper? Angel, it's not just dangerous, it will most probably kill both of us, and I won't risk you for a chance..."

"Crowley, I'm willing to risk anything if it saves you," Aziraphale snapped. "Besides, I wouldn't offer it to any demon, but you have enough good in you to handle a bit of angelic energy. And I'm too far from being a perfect angel for a bit of demonic to hurt me."

His reasoning weakened Crowley's defense, but the demon was still stubborn:

"You can't make me," he said and closed his eyes again, obviously ready to stop fighting and slip away into the oblivion.

Aziraphale breathed in deeply and pressed his hand tighter. _Of course, I can't, this is about love and trust, not violence_.

"That's why I ask you to let me try, dear. I researched it and calculated for several days, I know what I'm talking about. Believe me. Please," –_ even if I'm partly lying and it's impossible to calculate._ "How do you think I could live on knowing I could have done something to save you but didn't?"

For some seconds demon didn't show he had even heard his words – Aziraphale could only hold his breath and hope these seconds wouldn't prove to be essential.

Crowley opened his eyes slowly:

'You're intolerable. Okay."

Aziraphale exhaled with relief:

"Just relax and don't push me away, would you?" he laced their fingers together, closed his eyes and mentally reached for Crowley.

Here they were, an angel and a demon. The grace-filled heavenly aura and the hellish demonic one, light and dark, siding, barely touching. Aziraphale put them together and felt Crowley shiver not letting himself to pull away. He was awfully weak, powers leaking out of him. Slowly and gently, Aziraphale wrapped the demon with himself, protecting from the world outside and trying to stop that flow. Strictly speaking, he had no idea if this could work. He was pretty superficial at healing as any average angel. Crowley was a healer, then and now, although you would get a lot of angry hissing if you try to call him that. But to guard and to protect – those was Aziraphale's tasks.

Somewhere they floated in the ether, sunlight shone on the angel's wings, the pit of darkness laid beneath. Aziraphale held Crowley in his arms, pale and almost transparent, not denser than his own shadow. The air was still, and the angel glided searching the verge where light and darkness mixed in balance becoming shades of both.

Somewhere he gently, carefully pressed their auras together completely and began to gradually blur the edge. Black and white melted and blended, light and darkness turned into a fade fawn and aurulent fog.

Somewhere the flaming wheel with many heavenly-blue eyes turned around the black serpent, closed around him. They were hereditary enemies, Aziraphale couldn’t do anything about it, here he was not capable of being gentle, just to measure his strength by his opponent's weakness for the sake of fair fight. The holy fire reaped apart the serpent's scales to meet the hellish cold beneath them – to turn into the scorching frost of the highest sky, which got swallowed by roaring pit flames. And till cold and fire tried to consume each other clenched in an never-ending line of mutual transmutations, changing each other and staying the same, wasting the precious energy on fleeting steam and pain of scalds, Aziraphale asked perhaps the boldest question on his whole existence:

"If we are so alike, than what's the difference?"

"Nothing. Everything. You stupid, stupid angel, it'll kill us if you don't stop," the serpent bit the wheel, dived through it, trying to escape.

The eyes closed for a moment, then opened with a renewed resolution:

"No."

And the serpent was caught by the wheel into its eternal turning. The black snake body was stretched and pressed to the rim, the mouth to the tail, and cold and fire mixed in one agony without an end.

But the demon was Crowley, and the angel was Aziraphale, and as they couldn't avoid hurting each other here and now, so they couldn’t really harm each other for they believed it firmly.

What one would expect to find looking into a demon's soul? Evil of course, the mark of belonging to Hell, and it would hit one even if he thinks himself prepared. And spite, and quick anger. Pain. It was partly fresh, but partly was burning here since the very time the Earth was barely finished and angels were falling down from Heavens... Most demons would have only emptiness and hunger for other's suffering and power in its place. In Crowley it seared until now and intertwined with so many things... Loneliness. Cold and pitiless, one touch if it made Aziraphale's heart cramp. Yearning and disgust, weariness so heavy it asked to flack out... and at the same place, so close – curiosity, care, mmirth. Love. Which was by all written and unwritten rules impossible for a demon. But when did Crowley care for anyone's rules.

Aziraphale stepped back, knowing he crossed the line; he had no right to trespass where just a demon ended and Crowley himself began... He had no right to change anything here – but nevertheless he tried to give some warmth to where the loneliness reigned. And that old pain drew him closer – not only by the wish to comfort it somehow, but by promising a key to that young angel whom Aziraphale didn't know, who asked too many questions, who didn't need to fear the Holy water...

Aziraphale never wanted to know what questions brought Crowley to the Fall, He was always too much of a coward.

Now he was closer than ever to knowing them – and they filled him with anger.

"Angel!" Crowley hissed and tried to break himself out of the embrace – just to free his arms and press them into Aziraphale's shoulders as if trying to shake him. "Angel, stop it!"

The silent turned into the roaring storm. It beat and clawed the wings and threw the angel from side to side, and suddenly Aziraphale lost his balance and could not hold them both in the air, not with this wind, not with this anger, not with the pain of Hell entering his being.

The world swayed, the bottomless darkness rose towards, the wind got utterly mad kicking the two falling, falling... Falling.

"Angel, breathe," the stubborn hiss into his ear came through the howl of wind for just a moment, and Aziraphale didn't get what Crowley meant at first. To breathe was pointless here, too human, useless and nearly impossible by the wind so strong.

The black wings opened, slowing down the fall, making it into flying again.

"Breathe," Crowley said again and threw his head back. The dusk was thickening around them, but the demon's eyes reflected some sunshine. With a powerful swing of his wings, he sent them up, tricking the wind and making his passage back to the light.

Aziraphale let himself inhale – such a simple thing calmed so much, pushed away both anger and fear. Obviously, it shouldn’t have worked here, but who cares. And after coming back to his senses a bit, he took the lead again – Crowley was too weak now to carry them both for long.

They reached the sun-laced half-light again when the wind stroke in full earnest, twirled them into the air and pulled apart. An immense force battered against them trying to tear away. As if Light and Darkness themselves came to claim what's theirs, drawing Aziraphale up and Crowley down, threatening to rip them apart and build again on power's own accord after the disobedience. And the angel and the demon knew for a fact that if they let their hands go, it would be the end, they would never find each other again.

The Universe shrank to the clutched hands and roaring of the wind, but the gentle voice came through in miraculous way.

"Let go, angel. You'll be safe."

"Don't you dare," Aziraphale clenched his teeth and fingers stronger.

And the storm subsided.

The crazy plan had worked. They were both here, in the aurulent half-light, and Crowley didn't look as a shadow anymore although Aziraphale still felt his wounds. He reached for his friend without a thought – and healing came as simple as breathing.

Then he opened his eyes, at will coming back to his physical body to find himself at some point fallen upon the demon and now lying with his brow on Crowley's shoulder and blood-soaked jacket sleeve. The demon breathed faintly but seemed unable to awake. The angel sat up quickly – a walk to Hell and meeting with Hastur were definitely not what Crowley needed, so his physical wounds called for immediate attention. Looking at the bed, Aziraphale thought with late regret it could be wise to try and stop bleeding at first. But he had been in too much hurry to save Crowley himself, not his human vessel.

Smaller cuts closed easily, but the lethal stomach wound demanded more work and it would take Aziraphale some time if the other will didn't guide his power as if Crowley's own. This was... weird, but really the easiest way to do it now when they were still connected so deeply.

Then Crowley gently disentangled himself, and Aziraphale let him go. For a moment, he felt strangely bereft after that.

"Are you alright, angel?" Crowley pushed himself up. "You have blood on your face."

"Oh, this should be yours, I'm afraid," Aziraphale waved his hand and cleansed their cloth and the room of any trace of blood and dirt. Then he looked strictly at the demon: "Do you understand it was the most idiotic temptation attempt in your career?"

"Remind me never to agree to any plans of yours," the demon nodded. Aziraphale didn't even care to hide his smile.

Crowley pressed his palms to the eyes for a moment and moaned, falling down to the pillows:

"I think I'm going to sleep. I'm exhausted."

"Rest, dear," giving into a sudden urge, Aziraphale leaned and kissed his demon's brow. "I'll be somewhere around. Call me if you need anything."

Crowley mumbled something in the pillows in response.

The idea of the sofa with a blanket in the living room was really tempting.


	11. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up twice, but remembers only the second time.

Crowley woke up because of a suffocating dread which pressed him onto the bed.

It wasn't a nightmare, it was a reality – the oppressive gruel presence, too familiar for the demon to doubt whose it was. The presence that for centuries had bent him to the ground and made into a crawling worm. It didn't get easier to bear even later, when a deep bow was told to be enough.

He was here. Lucifer, Satan himself, on Earth, in the demon Crowley's flat.

And it was potentially far worse than any nightmare.

Last time in Tadfield Crowley managed to cope and act, but there was Aziraphale, and Adam (as much Crowley detested to admit that the boy helped), and the attention of the Lord of Hell was not directed at him personally. Now... He managed to sit but not to stand up until the door swept open, and a high, a bit angulous figure stepped in.

Of course, Lucifer didn't wear that gigantic war form with horns, that was for battle and horrification. His visitations of Earth demanded more elegancy – so the Lord of Hell looked like a well-groomed British gentleman in a perfectly fitting suit and with a walking cane in his hand. His strange, at the same time attractive and appalling face reminded Crowley once again why he hated otters.

"Here you are, my boy."

Crowley would rather like to hear this voice only through the speakers of some wretched device and preferably never again. Though his idea of "never again" could be very easily made true any moment.

Lucifer waved his hand, and Crowley fell back to the pillows as a ragged doll.

"Oh, don't stand up, dear, you're ill. No need for formalities; I just came by to check on you. It's a custom on Earth to check on one’s ill friends, isn't it? So nice," Lucifer moved an armchair closer with a glance, sat down, and crossed his legs. "They have so many nice customs, really, and all this bringing grapes to a hospital with hope that grandpa would finally choke..." he chuckled. "Sorry, let's not talk shop. So, how are you?"

Aziraphale. What happened to him? Crowley regretted for a second that he didn't ask the angel to stay in one room with him – the bed was really more than wide – and in the next moment was glad about it: he didn't know where the angel was and so could hope...

"Thank you, milord," this was a rude enough answer considering the circumstances. "I could rather expect a visit from Duke Hastur, he seemed to miss me."

The angle of Satan's mouth twitched.

"Hastur is already regretting his disobedience deeply," he said mildly, but beneath this mildness, an abyss opened. "It's very doubtful that anyone would get to see him any soon. If I needed to heal you now..." a little grimace of disgust ran across the otter face, " or trade you molecule by molecule from Death, no-one would ever meet him again. As it is now... We'll see."

Even Crowley's powerful imagination couldn't help him to figure out why Lucifer could possibly need to do such things. The perplexity must have shown itself in the demon's face because Satan laughed:

"Oh, darling, I can explain it to you, it'll do no harm. However difficult our relationship with Mother is, sometimes I get request which... cannot be ignored," the velvet purring of his voice now covered gnashing of tectonic plates. Crowley couldn't help thinking if there would be a tsunami somewhere soon. "And right now She wants no harm to you or other renegade. I agreed – in the end, it's funnier this way. You are all the same after some centuries in a torture room. And this way – I will watch you ruin yourself."

So, Aziraphale was safe. Crowley breathed out a little. Not that he believed a word from Lucifer's mouth... although to doubt his words was tremendously difficult.

"I'll try to make the show long," he said.

"Oh, you're adorable when sassy, darling. Perhaps, I should pop in from time to time just to listen to it?" Satan slobbered. "And your angel could try to intervene so I would be forced to eradicate him..."

He stood up and went through the room looked out of the window.

"You made yourself quite comfortable here, darling. I always knew you had a good taste. You even managed to find a not boring angel, a really funny one..."

He came back to the bed and looked at Crowley narrowly. The demon could do many things but to meet this stare and hold it was far beyond his powers. Crowley barely managed not to try crawling under the bed.

"You two are really resourceful, one should admit. Oh, Crowley, Crowley... How did I make such a mistake? You were always Her card, not mine. And I was almost attached to you. You had such a potential, such moments of a true demonic genius..." Lucifer sighed and shrugged, picked up his cane left by the armchair. "But it's not the first time when you appear to be a disappointment. And not the last, of course," he halted for a moment as if stumbled upon an unexpected thought: "Don't you think that it will be different now? That he could forget you being a demon? That this alliance will hold after the angel realizes you are of no use for him any longer? Oh, darling, you can't be so naive..."

Crowley clenched his teeth feeling as if something forced out all the air out of his lungs and trying to resist these words.

Lucifer stroked his hair almost with sympathy:

"Well, I won't bother you any longer. You will not remember our conversation. Sleep, get better," he stopped in the doorway: "And yeh, I don't probably need to say it but nevertheless: look after the boy since he got in his head to listen to you."

***

When Crowley woke up it was afternoon, and London was as usual bustling.

The demon stretched, feeling with pleasure that his body had almost forgotten the pain – its last aftermath had to vanish in a couple of hours as he presumed. The lack of suffocation and burning in his chest was even better. His impossible stubborn angel did actually find the cure – Crowley smiled unwillingly at this thought, but his smile withered quickly.

Was the angel still glad of what he'd done?

Well, of course, he should have been glad because of a good deed. But Crowley remembered too well the moment when the angel's wings stopped carrying Aziraphale and the angel, the gentles, noblest, kindest angel in the whole Heavens started to Fall – after he looked into the demon's soul. Crowley didn't know what was it that he saw, what caused that flash of pain and anger which nearly burnt the angel down. But didn't he have enough dirt on his consciences to make anyone shudder. And even if not, even if the angel in his infinite kindness managed not to be appalled by the sight of a black demonic soul, the mere touch of it was enough to tarnish and infect him.

The demon stood up and started to circle around the bedroom.

Old, unwanted thoughts, which he chased away for centuries, were now hammering in his mind. He could think himself better than Hastur or others like him, avoid murder and prefer mischief to the real evil as much as he liked, in the end, it didn’t change anything. He was a demon, a servant of Hell. Crowley couldn't ever understand the idea of eternal punishment for a short human life. But he was too little a figure in this game to have his opinion and learnt not to think about. He was a demon, a tempter, and in his way he left broken hopes, shuttered hearts, ruined lives and souls going directly into Hell – including those for whom the balance barely tipped and through his doing only.

Aziraphale was not the only one who managed in a miraculous way to be at peace with this side of Crowley's life (and the demon tried to give away as little details as possible) but also nearly impervious for it. A little friendly temptation from time to time didn't count, Crowley could never make the angel any harm – if it depended on him.

Did it?

Or was he only a threat and a magnet for a disaster? A weak link, unable to protect himself and letting his friend take the blow. A really proper behavior for a demon.

The large bedroom became too small to stay there for a moment longer, but to go out meant to face Aziraphale. Well. Crowley jerked the door open as if it was his personal enemy. The angel was still in the flat; Crowley felt his aura, and it was calmingly divine, but at the same time, something in it was off.

It seemed Crowley was ready for everything entering the kitchen, but strangely not for Aziraphale beaming with joy at the sight of him.

"Crowley, you're awake!" the angel put down the kettle he held in his hands and stepped forward, suddenly stopped and reached to the cupboard. "How do you feel? Would you like tea? Coffee?"

"Okay," Crowley shrugged. "What's the fuss, angel?"

"Oh, I..." Aziraphale smiled a bit confused. "I'm just so glad to see you on your feet, Crowley," he said earnestly and suddenly made two more steps forwards and pulled the demon in an embrace.

Crowley was a bit startled. Not that they never hugged, but it happened about once in a couple of centuries and he was completely unsure he deserved it right now. And this embrace strangely reminded the best moments of their yesterday's escapade.

"How long did I sleep?" Crowley asked letting the angel go and settling down on a chair.

"Three days. I decided not to wake you up unless you would sleep for more than a year."

Crowley chuckled:

"You will remind me that for eternity, won't you?"

Aziraphale put a cup of tea in front of him and nodded solemnly.

Crowley got serious:

"Angel, how are you? Are you alright?"

"Of course, dear, I wasn't poked with a blade from the War," the angel answered innocently.

"You know perfectly it's not what I’m asking. You... you nearly Fell yesterday. Because of me."

"Three days ago," Aziraphale corrected pedantically. "I was reckless. But you caught me. Nothing happened. Everything is fine, Crowley".

Something was definitely off. Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously and demanded:

"Show me your wings, angel."

"I don't know what stops you from just believing me," the angel sighed, but the look in the serpentine eyes didn't change, so he shrugged and manifested his wings.

They were still shining milk-white and pearls – except for the ends of three flight feathers on both wings, which appeared to be burnt. Crowley blew a breath through his teeth as if someone punched him in the guts and stepped away.

Seeing his reaction, Aziraphale turned his head and looked at his wing – the puzzlement on his face changed to fond curiosity:

"Oh really..." he reached and ran a finger over a darkened feather. "What an unusual colour..."

They weren't burnt. They were shining and caramel-golden.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley and said:

"Show me yours."

"What? Angel, it doesn't work this way. It's rubbish..."

"Crowley."

The demon tried to object further, but it was sometimes quite hopeless to argue with Aziraphale. Anthracite-coloured glossy wings filled the rest of the kitchen.

"Aha," the angel said jubilant.

Six feathers on the end of Crowley's wings were glistering with golden caramel.

"The colour of our side," Aziraphale smiled contentedly. "I like it."

Crowley folded his wings quickly._ "Our side. The one which can strip you of everything you hold dear."_

"It isn't supposed to be so," he said aloud.

Aziraphale poured himself some tea and took a seat opposite the demon.

"It hasn’t ever happened, that's for sure. But it's not the first precedent we create, is it?"

"Angel, you can't speak about it so... lightheartedly! It's about… about who you are!"

The angel sighed and got earnest. Crowley asked himself once more, what Aziraphale was thinking about all three days here alone.

"I have already chosen who I am and who I am with, Crowley. And this change doesn't seem improper or even frightening. Rather... rather ineffably fitting."

"Oh no, not this word again..." "Speaking about our side..." Aziraphale was still serious, but now his voice sounded harsh: "Was I mistaken, Crowley, or during that night you suggested me to go and leave you to die _thrice_?"

The sudden change of subject caught the demon off guard, especially because he didn't see what was to discuss there.

"Well, angel... I... naturally"

"I wouldn't even mention your last temptation, but _angel, go away_? Could you really believe it even for a moment?.."

"There was four of them and with blades which could kill you for good," Crowley chafed. "And you looked armless..."

Aziraphale sighed and pursed his lips:

"I could have taken weapon from them. It would be messier, of course..." he drank a little tea. "Shortly speaking, Crowley, I don't know in what inexplicable way you came to thinking that your life is somehow worth less than mine – that's sweet and flattering, believe me, but highly inconvenient. Try to get it into your head, please, that I don't want to spend eternity here without you. If you will have to go to Hell and not come back in a week, I'll have nothing more to do except to go after you – and the consequences will be on you. Am I clear enough?"

Crowley had some time to make peace with the topic, turn his tea into whiskey and regain his ironic look:

"Mmmm, I'm not sure should I worry for you or for Hell itself more."

"Exactly. And don't even make me think about what I would do if you managed somehow to get killed permanently. I would never forgive you, that's for sure."

_And I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me_, the demon objected silently, saluted him with his whiskey and said:

"Calm down, angel. You're stuck here with me. By the way," he desperately needed to change the subject, "that sword... it was.. wasn't..."

"Of course, not, dear. You saw, I've given it to the Delivery Man. I've just thought some time ago it would be wise to have a blade at hand just in case in the current circumstances. I forgot to tell you, sorry."

Crowley kept silent for a moment, then said:

"You know, I meant what I said. You didn’t take these things in hands all this time for a reason. It's your choice, Aziraphale, softness. From the very start you were the angel who gave his sword away, not wielded it."

"Oh, I don't intend to pick this thing up if not strictly necessary," Aziraphale assured him and added mockingly: "But you haven't ever learnt to fence properly, so someone should..."

"I fence quite properly!" the demon told back, with a perfect knowledge of how far behind he was in this matter and with guilt for it.

"Oh, of course, should I remind you... well, events in Apulia, for instance?"

The serious conversation was over, and after a quarter of an hour, they went to feed ducks still arguing about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How could anyone withstand the temptetion to show Satan-Cumberbatch?..


	12. Stars and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You never asked me about... before."  
"Ooh, yes. At first, I thought it wouldn't be polite to. And you probably woudn't like to speak about. And later... I kind of knew."  


"Crowley, by “the roof” I didn't mean the highest roof in London!"

"Come on, angel, why agree to something less?" Crowley made a gracious pirouette in the air, flew between two parts of a transparent wall, and landed on the viewing platform of the Shard.

Aziraphale was a little behind and preferred to fly over the construction and float down.

"Should you fly so much at all now?" he asked the demon anxiously.

"Angel, I'm fine, stop fussing about," Crowley dismissed the question. He was already spreading over the plaid miraculously appearing on the floor.

After a couple of rainy days, it was a crystal clear December night, and it came into their heads to delight in views. Perhaps, empty wine bottles back in the bookshop had something to do with it.

Aziraphale looked down at the city – the shining of millions lights, the soundless flow of the river, dozens of thousands houses... He felt the city pulsing with life, hopes, love, fears, dreams… Several especially strong, desperate flashes of emotions caught his attention - the angel reached there sending blessings and clearing up. He didn't know what exactly was going on there and if his help would be enough, but he hoped.

"Come, angel, it's more beautiful here," Crowley called him lazily.

Aziraphale turned to him. The demon picked up a place where the constructions around covered the sky least and sat with his head back watching the stars. Aziraphale sat down near him, brushing the demon's shoulder with his own. These days a light physical contact was not so rare between them – it worked strangely comforting. A little reassuring that the friend was here, a reminder of possible absolute closeness – at the same time grounding unlike the touching of auras, helping to stay in the physical reality.

As far as Aziraphale could tell, Crowley shared this feeling.

"I was always bad at astronomy," Aziraphale said. "Show me Alpha Centauri?"

The demon pointed to a shining dot on the sky instantly:

"You can't see the Alpha and the Beta separately with human eyes."

"Why did you choose Alpha Centauri that day?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh well... It was one of my makings. I know it's lovely," Crowley answered flippantly, then tensed.

"Oh..." Aziraphale was silent for a moment. "That's... amazing."

The demon grinned.

"You don't seem too surprised, angel."

"Why should I? Should I be surprised that such a beauty came into being through you? It seems quite ... natural," the angel smiled.

Crowley made a long pause, then said looking sideways:

"You never asked me about... before."

"Ooh, yes. At first, I thought it wouldn't be polite to. And you probably woudn't like to speak about. And later... I kind of knew."

Crowley looked at him sharply:

"Knew what?" Aziraphale looked back and answered mildly, nearly apologizing – it was a painful subject, and he didn't want to hurt Crowley with a not careful enough word:

"You was one of Raphael's, nothing more."

Crowley nodded musingly.

"How that?"

"It was an educated guess at first. You always knew a lot about healing. Understood its subtleties much better than nearly anyone I knew. Then... they confirmed it one day."

"What?" now Crowley looked really flustered.

"Of course, I was never brave enough to ask. It was just a briefing at Gabriel's office, sometime after Golgotha. About the Enemy. With a lot of rambling about how wicked demons are and pictures of your lot definitely working on Earth"

Aziraphale hesitated a moment. It wasn't really a pleasant memory. He felt awfully conflicted during that briefing. Gabriel was talking and talking about demons in general and each one put on the desk personally. When he got to Crawly... wicked, treacherous, cruel, rotten to the core, shallow were just a little part of the description. Aziraphale was listening, and two feelings were ripping his soul apart. The first was an urgent need to stand up and shout it was all lie. The second was the fear that it was he, not Gabriel who was mistaken, mislead by the Adversary and slipping into sin and wickedness. "

"Then Raphael came in for a moment and recognized your picture. They said you were always one of the brightest."

It was a salvation. The archangel came into the room and stood silent for some moments. Then they sighed slightly and asked Gabriel gesturing towards the portrait of Crowley: _"Are you speaking about this one?"_ Gabriel, interrupted in the middle of his speech, just nodded._ "It's Crawly now, then. Hasn't changed so much,_" Raphael said musing. "_Well, I'm not surprised. He was always so bright. Had such an imagination. Not a very fitting name though, I hope, he'll make up something better,"_ they said fondly, which took Aziraphale's breath away. The angel wanted nothing more that moment than to say it was Crowley now.

"_It's very nice that you are proud of your underling, Raphael,"_ Gabriel said with poison in his voice. "_Considering he is now one of the worst Hell's agents." _

_"We lost a lot in that War,_" Raphael answered with sadness. _"I'm glad he is alive."_ They gave one more gentle look to Crowley's picture and went to the door._ "Come to me when you are free, Gabriel, we need to talk._"

"I think... I think they missed you," Aziraphale said quietly. "Probably are missing you till now."

Crowley fidgeted a little.

"Raphael was always a decent one," he admitted unwillingly. _And I let them down_, he added in his head. "You're right. I really don't want to talk about it. Just got silly."

"Will you still show it to me? Alpha Centauri?" the angel asked finding his hand and clasping it gently.

"Well, one day. Just try not to say we are not friends this time, will you?"


	13. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale visits a hospital, doesn't go to dinner but drinks coffee.

Aziraphale came into the bookshop, locked the door and leaned on it with a sigh of relief. He was tremendously tired, and even standing was a heavy task now. The angel forces himself to cross the shop and reach a chair at the desk. Of course, he had to go upstairs and make himself some tea... but this could wait. Now Aziraphale kept sitting, lowering his head to his hands.

He hated to admit it, but visiting hospitals always was one of the least favorite parts of his job on Earth. Miraculous healing took a great amount of power. To give them credit, Heaven never ordered him to heal more than two or three people. But if he could help some more... And there were not only patients but their dear ones needing comfort… and doctors...

This time Aziraphale went to the emergency department of one of the London hospitals just because he needed to repay the world for Crowley. He kept his best friend, why should others loose theirs?.. And because he still didn't know what to do but couldn't be idle. And because he needed to make sure his powers obeyed him although they felt a bit different now. And to make sure with something more serious than a warmed cocoa.

He was glad he had those two days to comprehend what had happened while Crowley was sleeping. Aziraphale himself woke up the next morning feeling completely wrecked. At first he wanted to blame the sleep itself – he never understood Crowley’s affection to this pastime and absolutely didn't like the moments after waking up, feeling numb and disoriented, knowing something could have happened around (Crowley managed to take pleasure even in this, judging by the days he was catching up on sleep because of his after Non-Apocalypse nightmares almost literally under Aziraphale's wing). But soon the angle should have admitted that the matter was graver. He felt strangely despondent and for the first time of all his visits there, Crowley’s flat seemed to be hostile environment as if it suddenly recalled to be a demon's den. Aziraphale felt sharply the hellish energy guarding the place. And he couldn't help thinking... about what had happened the day before. The mere memory of that uncontrolled sliding down made his heart beat frantically. Aziraphale understood that Crowley – despite his own condition – reacted almost immediately and caught him just at the start, when nothing really dreadful had yet happened... But still it was terrifying, and the angel felt out of sorts and not totally himself. He was glad that Crowley didn't see him in this state, that he had time enough to pick himself up and put on a brave face. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to scare and worry Crowley now even more. The demon managed to blame himself even without it...

Aziraphale could explain that the only reason was his anger with God because of Her unfairness to Crowley. But then it would be impossible to deny the role of demonic energy so close to him and his pity for Crowley. And the demon didn't want to be pitied. Only admired.

He didn't knew a thing about Aziraphale's today's plans either. The day before he said something about urgent business and vanished – Aziraphale didn't ask anything supposing reasonably that he wouldn't hear anything like truth. Crowley was... inconsistent these days. He both reached out for the angel and fled away. And Aziraphale realized now Crowley didn't trust him in the end. No, he believed him and in him, he would risk anything for him and trust him with anything. He just didn't think he can rely and count on him. Deep in his soul, Crowley was always sure he was alone. And the words about "our side" were still a dream for him, even now, not a reality. This was a painful discovery – but whom did Aziraphale have to blame? He doubted and pushed Crowley away for centuries, even if sometimes for his own sake – how could the demon know how dear he was to his friend really?..

Aziraphale hoped Crowley could understand him better now, but wasn't sure – in the end, the demon was in a critical condition that night and could not pay so much attention...

The phone rang, and Aziraphale thought it had been very wise not to go upstairs because he wouldn't have enough strength to come back down now. He picked up the phone:

"Good afternoon. A.Z. Fell and Co., I'm sorry, we are closed today."

"All the better, angel, your so called working hours won't stay in a way of our dinner," the familiar voice told lazily.

"Oh, Crowley, halllo, dear," Aziraphale smiled unwillingly. "I thought you were out of the city."

"I'm back. So what about dinner?"

Azirpahale imagined the task of going anywhere and maintaining a decent conversation and sighed:

"Sorry, dear, not today."

"Hmm, angel, dinner" Sushi if you like? A cake? Are you alright?"

"I'm just so tired. I... I was in a hospital," Aziraphale admitted.

The phone was silent for a couple of moments:

"Have you overused your powers again? Aziraphale, when will you learn to be careful at last?" Crowley sighed. "But that's exactly the reason to go somewhere to a nice place."

That was exactly what the demon did every time he found Aziraphale in this state – dragged him to the nearest tavern, and fed, and didn't let go anywhere for at least half a day. He was always thereabout, and for a long time Aziraphale explained it very simple, although the explanation left a bitter taste on his tongue: is it really surprising to meet a demon amidst death and destruction, that's his job actually. But when it went on after the Arrangement was made, the angel started to get angry. If the point of the Arrangement was not to cancel each other, what were they doing in these situations?.. He spilled it all on Crowley once in the XIV century, in the middle of a painted with crosses little street in an Italian town – Aziraphale didn't remember its name, the plague erased all differences. The demon heard him out, opened his mouth to say something, but then only turned around on his heels and went away. The next time they met was after some dozens of years. And to talk again for real they started even later. Then Aziraphale believed that Crowley wasn't ever the cause of all those deaths. He came to those places with the same goal as the angel did – to heal. But unlike Aziraphale he never exhausted himself – perhaps, a better knowledge of the trade helped him, or his demonic egoism, or the opportunity as a demon to choose and heal only the people he liked...

"No, Crowley, I truly just want some peace and quiet. Let's do it other time."

"As you say. Rest, angel. And read something light, a Wodehouse, I don’t know, not the Abelard, please."

The demon hung up before a formal farewell as usually. Aziraphale put his phone handset in its place carefully. A cup of tea was really a vital necessity. And perhaps a Wodehouse too.

***

But the angel wasn't left in peace. After several hours, someone started knocking on his front door. Very stubbornly, considering a big clear CLOSED sign. And really rude, considering how long this knocking went on. Aziraphale wanted to ignore it but lost his patience and came down. On the stairs, he realized what was wrong about it. The knocker had a distinctive heavenly aura, and this didn't promise any good.

At least the visitor didn't come in uninvited. Aziraphale fixed his sleeves and bowtie and opened the door. There was Farael standing on the steps. Today she wore a jacket on top of her blouse, but in a December evening, it still looked odd. The thought that Farael somehow _knew_ and came to kill him flickered through Aziraphale's mind. It would be very inconvenient, especially today when the angel had no wish to fight at all. Instead, he smiled pleasantly:

"Farael, what's brought you here?"

For a being who had just been knocking on the door for a quarter of an hour, the new Emissary looked strangely unresolved now.

"Principality," she managed to say finally, "you ought to explain this to me. Who is Skywalker? Why so many men in red? Are they always going crazy like that before Christmas?"

Aziraphale glanced around, all the houses with Christmas lights and decorations.

"Yes, and isn't it beautiful?"

Farael looked at him tired and annoyed.

Aziraphale pondered over his options. He hadn't really recovered yet, of course, bit to lose a chance to talk to Farael would be stupid. So he suggested:

"Look, perhaps you would come inside, we'll sit down, and I'll try to answer your questions?"

Farael puffed and shook her head:

"Everything here smells demonic".

"Well then, there is a nice coffee house around the corner. Hell spawn visit it no more often than any other place in London."

The angel squinted her eyes, seemingly trying to find a catch in Aziraphale's words, but didn't and nodded reluctantly.

Aziraphale went back into the house to put on his coat, and when he came back, there was another already familiar angelic presence. He managed to see a light figure with a long dark hair and a bright coat going away. Farael coughed and said in a tone much more official than before and slightly louder than it was really necessary:

"Principality Aziraphale, I should explain the reason of my visit. I got to know that you are meddling with Heaven's business. This must stop immediately."

"As I understood you last time, Heaven is only fighting demons on Earth in a direct way right now," Aziraphale said carefully. "This was never actually... my line of work."

Farael pursed her lips and shook her head:

"It's about humans ".

"Did Heaven reconsider its position then?" This would be good news.

Farael shifted from one foot to the other and looked around nervously.

"We can move already," she said quieter and continued along the way. "Officially the new policy isn't proclaimed yet. But my recent orders... are not only about demons."

"In this case I can't help you," Aziraphale said firmly. "I wouldn't stop doing good just because I don't have orders to do it. Believe me, Farael, I did it not because of orders before."

The Heaven's Emissary kept silent for some steps.

"Heaven won't be pleased with it, Principality."

Aziraphale smiled sadly:

"I'm afraid I'm quite used to it "

They didn’t speak for the rest of the way, but Farael didn't try to accuse him either, and Aziraphale saw it as an amazingly positive sign. Even more amazing was that in the coffee house the angel ordered latte after just a little hesitation and even sipped at it once while Aziraphale was answering her questions.

Somewhere in the middle of the Star Wars: Episode V retelling a caprice by Paganini sounded, and something started to wriggle in Aziraphale's pocket. The angel nearly jumped with surprise and pulled out a ringing iPhone. No-one could say how long it was there, but fortunately, it shared the ability of many devices coming through Crowley's hands to work without charging.

"Oh no, Principality, you too," Farael said judgingly.

"Excuse me," Aziraphale stood up and went to the doors. "Crowley, hallo, dear."

"Where are you, angel?! Are you okay? You seemed to be to tired to go anywhere, didn't you? "The demon was annoyed and worried.

"Everything is fine, Crowley. Just... Farael came, the new Emissary, and asked me to explain some things... So we are drinking coffee now, I couldn't possibly refuse her, could I?"

Crowley snorted:

"Indeed. You are too much of an angel sometimes, you know it?"

"One can't be too much of an angel, dear."

"I could argue with that till tomorrow’s evening. And what do you explain?"

Aziraphale chuckled:

"Right now I'm retelling the Star Wars plot."

The phone kept an indignant silence for some moments:

"And I can't hear it. That's really angelic cruelty."

"If you were here I wouldn't have a chance to retell it," Aziaraphale retorted. "Sorry, I need to go back to Farael."

"Of course. Have fun, angel."


	14. The Heavenly Strategist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Michael! The archangel has her plans...

Heaven was as usually clean, white and shiny, and angels were hurrying to perform their duties to the obtrusively cheerful background music.

Archangel Michael was standing on the top of one of the Heavens' stairways not so far from her office. She looked into the back of an angel rushing towards the escalator to Earth. She didn't know his name and didn't want to – if asked she will deny any acquaintance.

For the first time in many days, Michael was content.

No one would dare to say it aloud, but Heaven had not the best of times. Thousands years ago, right after the War and the Fall, having lost half their brethren fallen and Fallen and not even getting orders from God anymore, the angels were angry, grieving, and terrified. They looked for some kind of sense in all of this; they tried to figure out what to do now. They knew there was a God's Plan, and from the pieces of what they knew, they put it together – the Great Plan which included Heaven, Hell and Earth and promised them some kind of comfort and closure in the end. They arranged the gigantic machine of Heavenly offices and worked hard. From time to time God send them a sign what to expect and what was to be done. She never gave to know they were doing something wrong.

And then in the last moment they were informed that God never wanted the Great Plan to work.

Heaven's discipline didn't let the angelic hosts start panicking immediately, but dismay and confusion were felt everywhere. Will we be punished? What should we do?..

Archangels were in the position even worse than anybody else was. Every one of them reacted differently. Uriel got hysterical, switching between loud repenting and praising God's kindness. Sandalphone said displeased that Hell still needs to be beaten, why not to do this at least, if not the End of the world. He was an idiot, but Michael liked the spirit. Raphael smiled politely with a big metaphorical sign "I told you so" upon his brow. Gabriel was thinking, which was frightening in itself, and tried to emanate high spirit.

Michael was considering next moves.

This whole situation undermined Heaven's authority – inside and outside, and the thought of it made Michael angry. And then there was angel Aziraphale. A traitor who fraternized with demons, disobeyed direct orders, and proved to be mysteriously immune to punishment. And the moment he stepped from the escalator back to Earth archangels got a paper, gold on white, saying they trespassed their jurisdiction. Angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley had acted in accordance with God's Will, therefore all attempts to punish them were strictly forbidden. They were had a laugh on. Heaven was made a joke, looking weak and incompetent.

Besides, the mere situation of an angel not Fallen but existing outside Heaven was absurd and appalling. It created an illusion of some kind of the third side, which afforded stupid ideas and made the situation even more unstable. The next move in this game should be absolutely winning. And if Aziraphale couldn't be destroyed, he must have been brought back. Or better made to come back himself.

After studying all the case materials, Michael decided how to achieve this.

She needed to dispose of the demon. Aziraphale wouldn’t stand being all alone on Earth for long. And Michael needed to do it so that no-one could blame or even suspect Heaven. Perhaps, they would even send Aziraphale some condolences on his loss. The ideal option was to get rid of Crowley by the hands of other demons or humans. But the first was now too hard to arrange, and the second – too uncertain. Michael didn't trust humans’ ability to kill a demon effectively – although from time to time they managed it.

In the end she choose the variant of a rogue angel who would act upon his righteous anger and wish to free his brother form the demonic influence. To pick a candidate and make him ready was not difficult. Now he rushed toward the Earth, and Michael could do something else and act surprised when they would get the news. The archangel turned to go, but the floor suddenly slipped from under her feet and the light went out in her eyes.

She stood in the midst of a city, opposite a red church with a high tower. The clock on the tower glistered with its goldish numbers. People were walking around, a group of teenagers was sitting on the stairs leading to the church door. The sound of organ came from the inside.

"St. Michael's church, Hamburg. One of the city's symbols," a soft voice behind her proclaimed, and Michael turned immediately.

There was...

How to describe someone who is bigger and higher than any description? Who is never changing and changes every second?

A fragile old woman with bright blue eyes reached Michael with her hand and patted her on the shoulder:

"I thought you could like it here. We could go and take a look at some islands, but there are too few people there, so I've chosen this."

Nearly six thousand years it was nothing, and now – this?! Michael was always proud on her restraint, but now it left her, and the archangel could only stare at the Mother and be silent.

A young Japanese girl opened an umbrella shielding them both from the rain:

"You know, I hope, how people like to name things after you? Churches, islands, children especially? They say a boy with your name will be honest, just, caring. We are not bound of their superstitions of course, but isn't it funny that so many gentle, generous and friendly people were named after my straight, rigorous and cunning archangel?"

Her voice was a bit mockingly, but fond. Michael finally took hold of herself and shrugged:

"Humans do a lot of strange things."

"And what about angels?" A freckled girl made her umbrella into a skipping rope and started jumping.

"We try to fulfill Your Will. But You don't want to let us know it."

She chuckled, and this time Michael nearly noticed the moment when the girl turned into a wiry black woman in a tracking suit:

"You weep so much that I have stopped talking to you, one could think you did actually listen to my words. What did I say to you, for instance? Do what you please but do not let your games hurt others. And what have you and Lucifer done? And now? I even wrote to you all, leave Aziraphale and Crowley in peace. And what are you doing? As for me, I call it disobedience. I repeat: leave these two angels be”.

Michael didn't know if she had anything to lose. Perhaps, whatever she would say, this conversation was to end in a pool of sulfur for her. Therefore, she looked at God and said back:

"There are not two angels. They are a pathetic excuse for an angel and a demon".

"An angel and a Fallen angel, no need to be rude," She fixed a blond lock of Her hair. "Probably, we need to find a new word for these two, but you'll manage to do it without me – ask Adam if you must."

"A new word? There are Heaven and Hell, angels and damned ones, Your servants and Your enemies. There is no place for the third option. Say a word, and there will be no second too. Give an order – and we will destroy Hell."

She – a green-haired teenager now – reached to pick up a yellow leaf from the ground and looked at Michael a bit tired:

"Options are good, Michael. A game with three sides is more fun than with two. And with only one it would be awfully boring. I don't recall you ever to like solitaire."

"Crowley is a demon. The First Tempter! If not for his wiles, your beloved humans would still live in Eden, Do you really protect him too now? Just because once in six thousand years he accidentally did something in accordance with Your will?"

"His will agreed with mine. That's far better than following orders."

“Angels and demons aren't given free will. It’s only for humans. We do what is designed."

"You see, Michael, free will is not something you can be given. It starts at the point you grab it. And we wouldn't discuss disobedience now if you hadn't taken it yourself. So let's not be hypocrites," the middle-aged woman with big golden earrings said.

"He isn't just a demon," Michael was annoyed. "As far as I remember he was intolerable even when he was an angel."

God laughed showing her golden crownworks:

"Intolerable, yes. Curious, bold, creative, mischievous and totally lacking any respect to the elders. And awfully funny. It would be nice to see him cheerful more often now. But I shouldn't interfere here, they'll figure it out themselves. Should do in two-three centuries, I hope". She turned and looked at Michael with grey eyes from a tender artistic face: "I forgive you for now, your mistake was sincere. But don't try anything like this anymore. I don't like disobedience. No attacks on Aziraphale or Crowley.

"Should I stop what's started?"

God thought for a moment:

"No. I want to see how they'll manage."


	15. Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why wouldn't I go with you, angel?"   
"Christmas miracles and blessings? Are you sure you want to help with it? Or are you planning something else?"  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count is rising because some chapters miraculously split and become longer. But I'm coming near the final.

It was the last week before Christmas, and Aziraphale decided firmly to put all his personal worries away. It was always a busy time. On the one hand, humans in this festive period intended by themselves to make life better for them and their dear ones, and to push them to Goodness was an easy thing. On the other hand, their good intentions often lead – quite in accordance with an infamous proverb – to making too much fuss, anxiety and troubles. And those who were not happy risked feeling even worse than usual surrounded by festive buzz. So, every year before Christmas Aziraphale tried to spend time in the city, listening to people's moods and needs, guiding and helping. After that he got some notes for frivolously used miracles, obviously, but at Christmas even Heaven usually got mild, partly closed its eyes and kept to soft scolding.

This year no-one could scold him again. It felt strange.

"Why wouldn't I go with you, angel?" Crowley asked nonchalantly when they finished lunch in a sweet Italian cafe. "Help and keep an eye on you so you wouldn't overwork again."

Aziraphale put his cup to the saucer and said:

"Christmas miracles and blessings? Are you sure you want to help with it? Or are you planning something else?"

Crowley's glasses flashed when he turned his head:

"Angel, have I ruined you a single Christmas? But well, if the idea of working with the demon makes you so uncomfortable..." he noticed the fork clenched hard in his fingers and moved to drop it onto the table.

Aizraphale reached quickly and gently stopped his hand.

"I trust you, Crowley; I just think you'll be bored. And too much of angelic miracles around tended to make your head ache, if I recall correctly."

Crowley shrugged and answered something jammed.

Shopping malls, Christmas markets and ice skating rinks were crowded with people, and the streets around them – with cars. The first dozen of miracles were used just to make the parking situation better (perhaps, London police would call the displacement of some road signs differently, but Aziraphale planed on returning them back later).

The next ones were more precise.

A man in a suit stopped looking for an unsaved note and remembered exactly which Lego set his son wanted.

A whole new box of cute little shining narwhals magically appeared on the back shelf.

The last green dress of this exact fashion turned out to be the last but one.

A woman sighed with relief seeing a pre-made lobster mask in a shop – she was going to make one from papier-mâché. Aziraphale didn't know why she needed a lobster mask for a children nativity play, but the woman was pretty sure about it.

A bone cracked after a fall while skating got whole again.

A tired young man with a lot of bags in his hands beamed suddenly. He made sure his girlfriend was very busy choosing her new shoes and stole into the next shop. He was served immediately and came back smiling, with a little box hidden in one of the bags.

All Christmas ornaments were blessed to serve long.

A boy was going to pick someone's pocket but slipped and went straight into the guard’s hands.

No Christmas light was flawed.

A plush penguin slipped out of loosened child's grip, but came back at once and didn't have a speck of dust on it.

The broken sheep's head in a nativity display was mended.

A barely holding on her feet girl in a jewelry store felt suddenly rested and stopped wanting to kill her clients

. An elder lady felt an acute pang in her chest – but it was gone the same moment, and she felt herself breathing more freely than for many months before.

Ice cream didn't drop on a new shirt.

In a bookshop, all Shakespeare’s comedies were sold.

And nearly everything by Wilde.

There was no mulled wine shortage anywhere.

And there was some demonic fun, of course.

"Don't you think the mother will worry? Where did the doll come from?' Aziraphale asked looking at the lost girl, now not only with her mom again, but also carrying a big doll with a terrifying price tag in her hands.

"Let her look after her child better," Crowley shrugged and clicked his fingers removing headache for a passing-by girl.

...

"Crowley, you've ruined this man's day!"

"His employees will be happy."

...

"Hey, where is my scolding for this one?"

"I shouldn't leave it so. It's a children book about Jesus, for God's sake, and you behave like... like a schoolboy!"

"But?"

"Perhaps, we should get really drunk and go decorate some Annunciation stained glass windows this way?.."

...

"They have the internet and delivery services. What are they all doing here three days before Christmas?" Crowley asked finally.

"They are human," Aziraphale shrugged. "But it seems to be enough for today. At least, I don't feel so useless now," he added quietly, Crowley glanced him from behind the glasses and quickly pretended to be interested only in their reunion with the awaiting Bentley.

"Thank you, Crowley" Aziraphale said when they were back in the bookshop. "You were a great help today. Not to mention it's more fun this way".

"Don't think you would have time to miss me, angel," the demon chuckled, leaning on a bookshelf.

"Can I thank you somehow?"

"There are two more days ahead," the demon yawned. "We aren't going to rest yet. But then... promise to spent the 25th at my place. We'll lie on a sofa and watch TV the whole day. And I'll switch the channels!"

"Oh God," the angel sighed. "I did know one should never accept demonic help, it always comes with a catch. I promise. What about a glass of wine?"

"Are you not full with mulled wine? No, angel, as strange as it seems, I want only to get home and fall asleep. And not hear any of these songs anymore."

"Are you sure you don't have a headache?"

"Angel, I adjusted to survive around you a couple of thousand years ago."

The doorbell rang, and several men entered the shop.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," Aziraphale said slightly surprised he'd forgotten to lock the door.

There were three of them, and two wore massive crosses upon their coats which was definitely not the current fashion. One had priestly garb showing under his coat.

"Here he is! Die, demon!" the third said. He had a cross in his hand.

"Ahm... listen, you are obviously..." Aziraphale started.

Several things happened all at once.

The man with a cross lunged at Crowley trying to hit him. The demon stepped aside without noticing two other humans gracelessly swung the open jars, one of them cried, "Be gone!"

"Don't be afraid, good man," another man tried to reassure Aziraphale.

The angel waved his hand, the demon clicked his fingers. Two humans disappeared at once, the third hang awkwardly in the air for a moment as if two different powers pulled him in different directions and vanished too.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale ran to the demon.

"I’m fine, angel, almost," Crowley hissed through pain.

Aziraphale turned him carefully around. When the water shimmered in the air, and the holiness spread, his heart sank. Now he expected to see flesh burnt to the bones.

But Crowley's shoulder was... not so bad. The holy water burnt through the demonically created cloth and corroded skin leaving a bleeding and blistering wound behind… but it was not so awful as it had to be.

Aziraphale gathered the rest of holy water and sent it next to the person who had brought it. Crowley closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated – the scorch healed leaving just a little red skin, and the demon breathed out with relief and sagged.

"It seems I need to put a sign on the door: NO HOLY WATER," Aziraphale said.

Crowley had a scratch over his brow – apparently, that brute hit him with the cross indeed, but the demon didn't pay attention to it because of holy water. Aziraphale touched the scratch and healed it.

"Now you're fine," the angel smiled.

"Where did you sent them?" Crowley asked.

"Some distant shires, I didn't really think about. And you?"

"Australia, I'm afraid." Crowley squinted. "It's a shame, we should have left one here and question him."

"What's the point? Die and be gone at once? They're idiots." "

Angel, its' the 21st century. Not a typical behavior for humans before Christmas these days, don't you think?"

Aziraphale sighed.

"You’re right. But I'm not bringing them back."

Crowley nodded. He got to the sofa in the backroom and collapsed on it dramatically.

"Listen, could you conjure up a little hellfire?" Aziraphale asked.

"What? No, angel, its' a bad idea. We are not experimenting on you." Aziraphale sighed again.

"Do you prefer to wait for next guests and try it in combat conditions?"

Crowley puffed but couldn't come out with an answer. So he clicked his fingers unwillingly, and a tongue of flame appeared dancing on his palm.

Aziraphale looked at it for a moment, licked his lips and vigorously reached to it.

The hellfire burnt, on every level of the angel's existence, and the touch of it was torturous – but not as much as it had to. Azirpahale stepped away, and Crowley quickly shook his hand killing the flame.

"Well, it's not immunity, but it's something nonetheless," Aziraphale said. "I supposed it could be a side effect, but wasn't sure..."

"I said no to wine? That was a mistake," Crowley said. "A huge mistake, angel, which I'm not going to repeat."


	16. A Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another demon and other two angels join the party. What do they want here?

"What? Leaf spots?! Who do you think I am?!" Crowley growled, nearly incinerating a guilty violet with his glare. "You have time to mend till tomorrow, not an hour more. Otherwise... " the demon made a dramatic pause. At the same moment, the doorbell rang.

This was strange. It was not the intercom, but the actual doorbell. Crowley didn't expect Aziraphale to come now, and had long ago taught his neighbours not to try socializing.

Carefully nearing the door, he scanned the neighbourhood for non-human auras. And of course, it was a demon on his porch. Alone. A lesser one, not someone of Hastur's rang. Crowley concentrated checking if he'd missed anything, if someone was pretending to be a human, a mean cat or an especially malicious object. But the demonic aura was definitely the only one here.

Crowley already had a disgusting feeling as if someone of his previous bosses had visited his flat – someone strong enough to step over his protection spells without even breaking them. It should definitely be paranoia, because not so many really could have done it, there was hardly any time for it, and, most importantly, Crowley was alive and the flat untouched. But these thoughts didn't make the feeling any more pleasant. And he never needed any guests from Hell, so he wasn't inclined to open the door for anyone from there.

But there was no other way to find out who was it and what the Heaven he wanted. And curiosity was always Crowley's flaw. He flung the door open.

There was really a demon. Alone. Reeking of alcohol, barely standing and barely controlling his physical form – his body was mostly human-like, but one fox ear and red fur on his hands somehow didn't add.

"De-mon Crow-ley," he spoke with drunken diligence. "I c-came to thank you! You're sick bas-tards, I dunno why you did 't ... But Earth is good, I mean, bad... I mean, let it be!"

It should have been one of many lesser tempters, which meant he and Crowley used to work in one department and Crowley could have met him hundreds of times. But he made a lot of effort not to know his colleagues, and now couldn't tell for sure.

"If you kill everybody, who will you tempt? And if you don’t tempt, what to do? Boooring!" the demon continued. "So – you did great!" he stepped forward clearly going to hug Crowley, but an invisible shield pushed him away and he flopped down on the floor.

"Ahm, sorry, mate, I don't like guests," Crowley said.

The second demon laughed drunkenly, but the fall seemed to sober him up a little, and he looked at Crowley curiously:

"Have you killed Hastur? He was going to destroy you and disappeared."

That was interesting. Crowley shrugged his shoulders and said with a well-trained indifference:

"I've killed one Duke of Hell, why not to kill another?"

"I'd started with Hastur!" the second demon barked a laugh. He stood up shakily and clapped his pockets until he found a package in the brown paper. "Here. They sent me after this. No-one said there will be angels too! But I outwitted them," he threw the package towards Crowley. The invisible defence shimmered for a moment being crossed.

"What's that?' Crowley stepped back.

"A book," the second demon said. "A nasty book by that nutter, Svitato. Hell wants it badly, you know. And I... decided..." for several seconds he looked Crowley directly in the face. "I decided I don't want. Could have brought it to your blasted angel. But you're closer."

Crowley frowned. If it was not a lie...

Then first, it was bloody dangerous. Crowley pushed the package back with his shoe:

"Take this filth and go..."

But the second demon was already on the stairs:

"Nope, that’s for you two. I'll say Below, the crazy bastard angel took it. He likes that stuff, he has full house of it. Everyone knows, a simple demon cannot fight him… "

"Stop, you idiot..." Crowley hissed lunging after him, but the demon shook his head, waved hands and disappeared.

Crowley swore. He picked up the package and went back into the flat, gloomily ripped the paper.

"The Bonds of Heaven and Hell" by Andrea Svitato was in a kind not a lesser legend than "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies" by Agnes Nutter. Andrea was a seer too, but he saw not the future, just a whole lot of details about how Heaven and Hell worked, and – which was the most disturbing thing – about how one can capture, use and torture an angel or a demon. Of course, there were loads of such stuff written through the ages – but they had about one working recipe or sigil per fifty pages. Svitato had only working ones.

Having discovered this, Heaven and Hell both got very interested – but thanks to human greed and lust for power, there were always just several copies. Two of them were destroyed; one was in Heaven for a short time but then disappeared mysteriously after less than a century; three were stored in Aziraphale's bookshop, safely locked away from the wrong hands.

And one suddenly came up and lay on Crowley's desk. The demon stretched his feeling checking the neighbourhood once again. It seemed that fox-like idiot really lost his tail if he hadn't lied about angels at all.

Crowley sighed. He had a gift for Aziraphale already, but "Bonds" could make an addition. There was no safer place for it anyway.

The thought of gifts reminded him of another business. He looked at a neat pile of boxes in the corner – Aziraphale lovingly wrapped them the day before. Now Crowley imagined all of them in Anathema and Newt's living room and snapped his fingers. After a couple of minutes, he picked up his phone and typed:

"Don't get overexcited about the gifts, niece, four are for the children."

"Thanks, uncle. Now Newt will drive me crazy till tomorrow by guessing what's inside. Merry Christmas to both of you!"

Crowley chuckled, and at that very moment, another message came.

"Park. Urgent."

Already in the street Crowley asked himself when Aziraphale had learnt to send texts. His phone didn't answer.

After the show in Barbican the day before – a lively and warm, although sometimes questionable production of "As You Like It" from the Royal Shakespeare Company – Aziraphale didn't want to stay at home. Perhaps, the characters somehow infected him with wanderlust, or it was just the city’s insistent call, but the angel said goodbye to Crowley and stayed in the streets for the whole night and morning, and only by noon returned to his bookshop to have a cup of tea.

He wanted to share some of his night observations with Crowley and nearly picked up the phone, but the demon had looked really tired the last evening, so Aziraphale chose to take a book and settle in his favourite armchair. A couple of hours flew by while he was following a story. But after he turned the last page, Aziraphale saw there was quite enough time before the planned dinner with the demon to make another go through the city. And despite many miracles in the last few days Aziraphale still felt himself fairly well. So, he dressed up and wanted to go outside, but surprisingly couldn't do it.

The bookshop door opened with a great effort after the third try, but the angel still wasn't able to cross the threshold, as if an invisible wall stopped his steps. But now he saw the reason: a chain of symbols dragged on the ground before the porch and along the walls bending around the corners. And holding him inside.

Aziraphale looked around. There were few people in the street, and he wasn't sure it would be safe to ask them for help. Anyway, at first he needed to check if Crowley was well. The angel retreated into the house and took his phone – just to discover a total lack of connection. Whoever decided to imprison him in his own home made sure he couldn't use this communication tool.

There was a familiar light figure with long dark hair standing across the street. Anyone would say it was a teenager dressed not right for such a weather. Aziraphale knew it was an angel.


	17. Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets in a fight with an angel, Aziraphale and his new acquaintance come to rescue.  
But something still goes pear-shaped.  
"I'm not nice. I'm not kind. I'm a demon, a tempter. And if I am any good, I'm bloody good at my job."

The road to the park took Crowley and Bentley only a couple of minutes, but it was enough for the demon to jump to a couple of conclusions.

Aziraphale didn't text. Crowley hoped to get him used to the idea someday - but for now it was a too hasty and impolite way of communication for the angel. And even if he decided to send a message, it would definitely have more than two words.

Besides, Crowley didn't forget the attack two days ago – being ridiculous it still could end badly if not the humans' clumsiness and his own sudden reduced sensitivity to holy water. Aziraphale seemed to prefer to forget about the matter indulging in the festive atmosphere, but Crowley sensed it was not over and stayed alert.

If Aziraphale had send this message, he was definitely in trouble and needed saving. If it was not him, but someone took hold of his iPhone, it meant the angel still most probably was in trouble and needed saving. In any case, the discretion was advised.

On the other hand, Crowley was tired and angry. He understood that the standstill after their failed executions couldn't last forever, but hoped for a break a little longer, and the meddlesome killing attempts made him nervous. Last days didn't make his mood better either. Crowley never liked to harm people, but the whole time he was helping Aziraphale with his Christmas miracles he looked at humans around, and his trained eye picked up all the opportunities to make angry, or upset, to ruin a day, found weaknesses and sore spots. He needed to fight against this familiar filter or to invert the results, and it wasn't easy. And the angel was radiant with joy thinking his dear friend finally got an opportunity to show his inner kindness. How soon would he understand a demon can be a decent conversationalist to meet once in a half-century but not a constant companion?..

So, basically, Crowley really wanted to take it all out on someone who deserved it.

He parked - with his usual disregard to any rules - and scanned the park. Aziraphale was nor here, obviously. The demon took a casual look and strolled through the park, even stopped by an ice-cream stand, and slowly came to their usual meeting point.

A figure in a preposterous white suit stood right before their usual bench. Not even trying to hide. Perhaps, it wouldn't be angelic enough. In the opposite to stealing phones and lying. Crowley wanted to feel surprised but couldn't. His last visit to Heaven made him disappointed with this office even more than before - and this wasn't easy.

Lazily strolling, the demon came and stood some meters in front of the angel. The last seemed to be unarmed, but Crowley couldn't be sure.

"Listen to me," he said harshly. "You tell me where Aziraphale is and if he is alright I don't care where you go".

The angel turned to him slowly – too slowly, nearly unnatural, as if he was moving every part of his body alone. This angel wore a corporation of a young athlete but wasn't used to it, to having a corporation at all. This was great news.

"Demon," the angel said cold, "prepare to die. It's time to pay for your malefactions."

"Don't get off the subject," Crowley said. "Where is Aziraphale?"

"Don't you dare to say the Principality's name," the angel's voice was soaked with anger. "It was not enough for you to bring suffering upon the humankind; you corrupted one of God's heralds."

"At least I didn't steal from his pockets," Crowley shrugged watching a glow beginning to seep through the angel's skin. The next moment he ducked and dodged a splash of divine energy that would turn him in a pillar of salt.

The sword appeared in the angel's hand. Without flames at least, just a sharp heavenly cutty thing. But when the angel lunged upon the demon with the blade, a cold clammy mass suddenly smaked into his face. Blinded, the angel faltered and stopped, The same moment the demon was upon him, twisting his arm and making him let go off the sword. It rattled on the stones of the road. The angel gasped in pain, wiped the reast of ice cream from his face with his second hand and hit the demon. He didn't figure it right - Crowley was pushed few steps away by the force of the blow, and was too far for the angel to grab him at once.

Crowley didn't make himself any illusions: his chances in a fair fight were thin. But he didn't intended to make one. He withdraw even farther instead, circling around the angel and smiling most unpleasantly, and gathered his powers.

A snap of his fingers stopped the time. The angel froze awkwardly in the midst of a move, leaves and grass got still, duck stopped in the pond – but Crowley didn't have time to stare. At the next moment for him the angel found himself pushed to the tree, long and sharp black claws of the demon digging into his throat.

"Last time question: what have you done to Aziraphale?" Crowley barked.

"No-no-no, just don't kill him! This wouldn't be like you, please, don't do it!"

There was a skinny teenager hanging upon the Crowleys arm pleading some bullshit. And as the demon suddenly realized, it was another angel. With a growl, Crowley shook him away.

"It's alright, Crowley, it's Noel, he is with me..." Aziraphale said hastily behind his back, and what a relief it was to hear his voice. "Let this... misfit go, let's be civilized!"

Crowley sank his claws into his captive's skin a little before unclasping hands and stepped back to see all the three angels. Aziraphale had a sword in his hand and looked nervous. Beside him a lithe teenager stood, grey hoodie and long dark hair pulled in a tail. He was clearly perplexed by what was going on.

"Civilized? This one lured me here to kill," Crowley hissed.

"You are, thanks God, alive and well," Aziraphale said back.

"Principality, I came to save you," the rumpled angel said trying to fix his suit.

"Mmm, this would be really nice, but is completely uncalled for, especially by such measures. What's your name?"

The angel glanced to his sword on the ground and pressed his lips together.

"And what rubbish are you talking about?" Crowley barked at Noel. "What's not like me here?!"

The youngest angel looked him in the face embarrassed but without any shred of fear:

"I was frightened you would kill him. And this would be... just not you! I watched you all three month, and in this time you've never done anything really evil!"

"What?! I'm a demon, boy, do you know it?" Crowley gave him a scathing look over the sunglasses showing his serpentine eyes.

"And all the same!" Noel answered bravely. "You've made so much good in this time... I've never thought demons are capable of it..." 

"Believe me, Crowley is quite unique in this sense," Aziraphale tried to keep a serious face. "Just don't call him nice, he'll get mad."

Now Crowley gave a scathing look to Aziraphale.

"Noel, you've disappointed me," the third angel said. "Listen to yourself. What are you saying! You've let the Principality out, you..."

"No, you listen, Dardiel!" Noel turned to him abruptly and stepped closer. "You lied to me! Nobody sent you with inspection! You lied to make me speak, and you disobeyed the order not to harm them! Shame on you! Don't even think I won’t report this!"

"Little shit," Dardiel spat.

He took a step back and began to glow again. Azirpahale immediately positioned himself before Crowley and put his sword to Dardiel's chest:

"I strongly advise you not to try anything like that." Under his suddenly icy gaze, the other angel abated and darkened. "Now answer: who sent you?"

"No one."

The tip of the sword pressed a bit harder, and the angel got nervous:

"No one! I decided myself it can't be left this way."

"Why?"

"Because he is a demon! He is... a fiend! He must be punished! And I thought you still could be saved if there were no demon more, I see now how I was mistaken, there's no hope for you..." Dardiel looked at Aziraphale with disgust and fear.

"Thought," Crowley smirked. "Do you believe he_ thought_, angel?"

Aziraphale cast him a reproaching glance and looked Dardiel again:

"And no one else thinks this way? You didn’t discuss this with anybody? No one asked you to solve this problem?"

"No. I just heard a talk..." A slight movement of the blade convinced him to speak on. "The archangel talked to other angels..."

Aziraphale sighed and lowered down the sword: "I see. Well. Go away." Crowley made a small movement of disagreement, but Aziraphale spoke firmly: "Go away and pass my message: if anyone hurts Crowley even a little, the whole Heaven will be very sorry. I promise."

Dardiel wanted to say something back, but didn't, stepped back, looked for the last time at his dropped sword and rushed away.

"Well, that's it," Aziraphale breathed out with relief, and the sword disappeared from his hand. "Thank God, everything is fine. Noel, let me thank you once again. Your help was... very welcome".

"His help?" Crowley pushed up an eyebrow. "What exactly is this little spy doing here, by the way?"

"Crowley, angels don't choose their assignments, we can't blame Noel. That... very bad angel imprisoned me inside my own home, and Noel broke the spell."

"I couldn't let him do such things," the second angel said.

"Hm. All right," Crowley looked him up and down, nodded and said: "Thank you."

"But I'm afraid we pulled you into a trouble, dear," Aziraphale said. "You were not to communicate with me, only to watch. And Dardiel will tell it."

Noel pushed his chin up truculently:

"I'll report all his wiles!"

"Speaking of that, angel, where is your mobile phone?"

"Mmmmmm," Azirpahale searched his pockets with no result.

Noel blushed:

"Dardiel... demanded me to take it for study... He pretended to be an inspection..."

Crowley snorted:

"Fine, we’ll get you a new one. But look after it, angel, it's a useful thing."

Aziraphale nodded.

"Noel, you aren't going to write your report right now? In the end, no one has let you of duty to watch me yet. Me and Crowley were going to have dinner. It's much more comfortable to watch sitting at the same table, isn't it? Would you join us? It's Christmas today, and it's a custom on Earth to spent this evening in company."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" the angel beamed. "Do you really invite me?"

"Of course," Aziraphale beamed back. Crowley rolled his eyes up but said nothing, and they went to Savoy.

During the dinner the angels were talking without a pause. Noel had a million questions about everything – he was on Earth for the first time in a few centuries and many thing took him aback, but at the same time provoked his curiosity. He greedily asked about everything what happened since the XVI century. And Aziraphale willingly told him and by the way didn't miss the opportunity to introduce another angel to a traditional Christmas turkey.

Crowley kept mostly silent, sipping his wine and watching. Aziraphale was jolly and obviously pleased by the curiosity of the second angel, pleased to share his stories and experience.

"Do you recall Marseille?" Crowley nodded once again without any indication he would like to continue the story. In the end, Noel didn't come to listen to a demon. He admired Aziraphale plainly and obviously, which made Crowley feel strangely annoyed. Didn't he want others to appreciate his angel more?.. And it only took a couple of month watching him in his natural context. If more colleagues saw Aziraphale as he was out of the restrictions of heavenly protocols, perhaps the demon wouldn't stand a chance to sit here at all.

"Oh, I almost envy you!" Noel exclaimed. "Many angels think to be on Earth is a hard chore, but you have seen so much interesting here..."

"I was lucky to have a good company," Aziraphale looked at Crowley. "With another Adversary my life here wouldn’t be so good, dear."

"That's amazing," Noel shook his head. "I barely can believe... Oh, sorry, this would be rude... Just.. They say so many things about the Serpent of Eden, so many bad things, and to discover this all isn't true..." he made a helpless gesture and looked at Crowley: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tell this, but I truly couldn’t believe my eyes at first when I saw you helping people..."

Aziraphale chuckled softly:

"Crowley had caused a lot of trouble for humans through the ages. But trust me, in the whole Heaven I haven't met anyone who would care about humankind more."

"That's not hard," Crowley said. The tension of the last days which was coiling in his chest now darted outside like a snake with the words cold like a December night. "Not wishing to wipe them all out is enough. But you keep forgetting, angel. I can help you out with some miracles from time to time. But I'm not nice. I'm not kind. I'm a demon, a tempter. And if I am any good, I'm bloody good at my job. Thousands of lives I've destroyed. Thousands of souls are damned because of me. Tormented right now in Hell as we speak - and for eternity. That's who you're speaking to".

Noel looked as if he was thrown a bucket of ice water over him. Aziraphale put aside his fork and looked at Crowley.

"I don't forget".

_I keep forgiving. Ever and ever again. Every day you can't forgive yourself. I pray for all of them. And I'm absolutely in no position to forgive you, but I do._

That's what Aziraphale wished to answer, but he knew Crowley couldn’t accept this. He didn't really have any right to offer him forgiveness. Just if God summoned Crowley right now to answer for all his deed, the angel would do anything to be there, shield the demon and ask Her for mercy.

He didn't say any of these.

"Yes, you did wreck them in thousands - on a Hell's command," he admitted. "I just remember all you have saved - on your own accord. Made their lives longer. And happier. I remember all beauty you brought here".

"Or it's just your kindness, angel. Your illusion," Crowley pushed back the table, stood up and left the restaurant.

It was cold outside – but for Crowley it would be cold anyway now. He was a fool, he knew it perfectly. His flare-up didn't lead anywhere and didn't mean anything. Aziraphale will just pity him – and feel embarrassed before this nice curious angel. He has ruined Christmas for his friend, that's all.

Crowley tilted his head back – two thousand years ago that stupid gigantic star in a completely wrong place in the sky made him angry, but now he'd like to see something guiding. Of course, nothing of the kind was there. Just the rare snowflakes fell from the sky. He needed simply to go home.

The door opened behind his back, and something soft and warm wrapped around his shoulders. A cashmere scarf.

"I know it's not your colour, but just looking at you gives me shivers," Aziraphale said coming closer. "And by the way I seemed to know your... line of work for the last six thousand years."

Crowley shrugged his shoulder dismissively, than made himself speak looking anywhere but Aziraphale.

"Sorry, angel. It's just.... me."

"You're tired," the angel put his hand softly on Crowley's sleeve. "Go home and get some sleep. Don’t worry about me, I'd like to walk. And I'll come tomorrow - if our plans didn't change." he added unsure.

The demon nodded.

What could he do else.

"Merry Christmas, angel."


	18. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little festive interlude before the last two chapters

The Christmas Day came and went strictly according the plans. And the Boxing Day too because the angel was in no hurry and returned to his shop only after lunch on the 27th. Everything was nearly perfect – even too perfect. Aziraphale obviously wanted to make it right after the previous day – and it was a little too much. He agreed to Crowley's ideas a little too eagerly, he was a little too caring, reacted in the exactly that way he thought he was expected a little too openly. Crowley didn't like it. He wanted just to enjoy this lazy day together. At least the angel's delight was genuine when the demon presented him with some books – the best from the last dozen of years, all signed (Crowley knew Aziraphale had been distracted from this hobby because of all the Armageddon stuff earlier). And the lantana camara that the angel brought, a little bush with a truss of cheerfully different flowers, had already taken its place among other plants and probably got to know what terrifying standards it will have to live up to. Then a never-ending series of texts and calls from Tadfield began, and one really long phone talk to America, and these all somehow dissipated the tension – together with large amounts of alcohol.

A single look at the cover of "The Bonds of Heaven and Hell" sobered Aziraphale up nevertheless. Crowley pulled it out of the safe only on the second day reasonably suggesting it could darken the mood. The angel took it in his hands and looked through – both carefully and with disgust.

"Every time I get my hands on one of them I don't know what to do," he sighed. "I’d prefer them never to exist and no-one to be able to misuse them, but I can't make myself destroy a book."

Crowley snorted:

"Listen, even a demon who knows only rumours about you doesn't expect you to destroy a book. Just put it to the other copies."

"Oh God," Aziraphale shook his head, "Hell knows for sure now that I have one of them. Not the most pleasant idea."

"That bastard fled away too quickly," Crowley swallowed the unwelcomed guilt with wine. "I wasn't eager to keep this shit..."

"No-no, you couldn't just give it away too," Aziraphale put the book carefully on the table. “You did right. But the fact that some demon gave it to us because he decided that would be better..."

"They say Svitato has some torture methods even Hell hasn't invented yet. Bring such a book to any Hell lord – there is too big a chance he will try them out on you," Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale glanced at him upon his glass:

"How long ago did I mention for the last time how glad I am you no longer answer to them?"

"I'm not a fan of Heaven's corporate ethics either," the demon answered.

"But anyway, whatever motives drove that demon, he decided to turn to us. As if we were..." Aziraphale swirled the wine in his glass, "a kind of the third side."

Crowley made a wry face:

"You know that's not what I meant..."

"I know," Aziraphale smiled.

"And anyway two… deserters from those two sides can't make a third."

"I agree, dear, but who knows what others think..."

"They’d better think nothing, it's too dangerous," Crowley jumped up and began to circle around the room. "If Heaven and Hell will see us as any kind of competition they will never let us be."

And what could he do in such a case to protect them both, to protect Aziraphale first of all? Nothing. Very little against powers of Hell and nothing against an army of angels. Crowley balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into the skin. A stupid useless demon.

"Crowley, stop, these are just my idle speculations," Aziraphale stood up too and blocked him the way making the demon stop. "And even if I’m right we'll handle it. Or not, but we'll do it in such a manner that no one else will too," he giggled, and Crowley couldn't help but chuckle too. "Besides," Aziraphale put his arm around the demon's shoulders and led him back to the sofa, "Heaven should be quite busy in the nearest future. Farael and Noel say they call back everyone who worked on Earth before and replace them with those who wasn't here at least for a long time... of course, everyone is unhappy... "

"They got frightened someone else would acquire the taste of worldly life like their lost Principality?" Crowley snorted. "And decided to send new angels here? What could go wrong, really?.."

Aziraphale squirmed:

"Please, don't call me this. I hope in the end it will make some good for all of them".

"I'm sorry, angel. Me personally thinks this institution is incorrigible. But you can hope that even Hell will improve someday".

"If you should know then… yes."

"You're absolutely impossible."

"Says who", they both smiled.

On the 31th, they watched fireworks from the Sky Garden in one of the London's skyscrapers. Aziraphale simply liked fireworks as a beautiful show, but Crowley always saw them as humans’ attempts to make their own stars, as fragile and fleeting as they creators, and it provoked a strange fondness in him.

On the 1st of January, they went to Tadfield. The Them met them cheerfully, saying a lot of thanks for the presents and asking a torrent of new questions. Anathema and Newt were glad too and even invited the angel and the demon to stay. Aziraphale noticed Anathema to look calmer, but be still tense and anxious inside. He took her to the kitchen to drink some coffee and persuaded to go somewhere out of Tadfield for a week – to a New Age conference which seemed to interest her, for example. Or to meet a couple of other girls who called themselves witches (she came across them in the Internet) and find out what their claims were worth. And, by the way, to come into his shop and take a look, perhaps, she would like to borrow something to read – and have a cup of tea, of course, how an angel residing in Great Britain could let her go without it?

Aziraphale didn't intend to lead her by the hand – just to support her own decisions and give her an opportunity to discuss them. And if necessary, to rebel against someone closer than a long dead great-grandmother.

As for him, Aziraphale finally found some balance inside him. The last events made him admit his real priorities once again. He had Earth and Crowley. Crowley and Earth. How can he pity himself and complain when he was given so much? And gradually, to his own surprise, the angel realized that the idea of the third side, his new golden feathers and changes in his power after their joining of souls stopped frightening him. On the contrary. He felt his own powers warmer now and a bit less alien to the energies of Earth. He would like to examine this phenomenon closer – and, perhaps, in the process of doing so to prove the demon that he could rely on Aziraphale. After Crowley’s last outburst the angel doubted if any amount of words could persuade the demon, but Aziraphale hoped to achieve understanding gradually, by words and deeds together, even if it took dozens of years.

He refused to consider options where they didn't have such a time.

That meant he needed to consider others. Where Farael and Noel were not only conversation partners but potential allies, and Svitato's book was not only a dangerous thing to be kept under the lock, but a weapon demanding to be studied. Aziraphale didn’t want to be a warrior again, but neither Heaven or Hell should expect him to give them away something he cherished. No more.

Noel came by a couple of times in January. His report of Dardael's assault provoked a big scandal in Heaven, but the angel himself was reprimanded for unsanctioned meddling too. The question if he could be left to observe Aziraphale was still open. But he was not officially revoked yet, and by a mutual agreement Noel used this time to discover the modern world, dropping in on Aziraphale from time to time to write a report together. The angel never came without a box of pastries and was perfectly polite with Crowley although got a bit shy in his presence. Aziraphale hoped this would get better. Aziraphale liked the young angel (he wasn't really younger than Aziraphale whatever his corporation looked like, but from some moment any angel who had spent on Earth less than a century seemed younger to Aziraphale) and hoped their acquaintance to last.

Meanwhile he continued to come back to his old duties looking after London and humans. Hospitals, asylums, all kinds of dens took a great part of his time and strength. Coming home, Aziraphale looked forward to another day or evening with Crowley. And at some point of night he went up to the specially sealed and magically protected room where he studied Svitato and other books like that.

Aziraphale couldn't be content and jolly knowing they are far from safe. He still needed to dispel Crowley's doubts and to find a way not to limit his good deeds by the close neighbourhood.

But in general it didn't only have to be enough for him. It was.


	19. An Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We all expected you to Fall after your disobedience, but it didn't happen. It means, you still belong to Heaven. You have a chance to return there."

The January day was dull and damp. Crowley came to pick Aziraphale up for dinner, but at the last moment they preferred to go nowhere and stay at the bookshop. It was still open, and no more than an hour ago Aziraphale was forced to shove out a couple of too interested customers. Crowley had been lazily teasing people on the Internet from his phone lying on the sofa in the back room, and now went upstairs to make some tea.

The doorbell rang, and Aziraphale's heart dropped at the sight of the persons coming in.

Gabriel went first, with his usual sprightly face. Uriel followed him obviously trying not to fall behind. The last was Michael, she looked around the shop and waved out a couple of people wandering around:

"Go."

The unlucky customers didn't know why but quickly obeyed.

_“Please, just stay upstairs. Please, please, let him be clever enough not to come down."_

"Good afternoon. What do I awe the displeasure to see you?" Aziraphale stepped forward.

"Hallo, Aziraphale!" Gabriel smiled. "Haven't you said you'd like to meet us on better occasion? Here it is, isn't it marvelous?"

Crowley didn't mention it, but perhaps it was his last words before the step into the Hellfire. In other situation, this detail would make Aziraphale smile. Now it clenched his heart.

"I'm afraid it was just a figure of speech, Gabriel. What do you want?"

Gabriel sighed and got serious, clasped his hands in front of him. Uriel did the same.

"First of all, we apologize for the incident with the angel Dardiel. His actions were not sanctioned in any way. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

"This will not happen again," Uriel added.

Aziraphale tried to find scorn in their faces, but no, they were sincere.

"The inconvenience," he repeated. "He tried to kill Crowley and imprisoned me in my own house, and you call this an inconvenience."

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand a little throwing a quick glance around:

"You seem to like this place? And sorry we don't worry much about your boyfriend's health."

Aziraphale nodded slowly.

"Well, I see. Your apology is taken into account. If that's all you wanted…"

"Oh, Aziraphale, don't be so stiff! We’ve come as friends," Gabriel grinned widely.

Crowley chose this exact moment to make his entrance.

'Hiiiiii," the demon appeared in the doorway, fully serpentine eyes blazing without sunglasses and wily smile curving his lips. By the way he spread upon the jamb, he had heard the boyfriend remark too. Aziraphale did well not to smile and roll his eyes up. "Whom do I see! Aziraphale, why didn't you tell your friends had come? I'd call the Hellfire – that's Heaven's new fashion for friendly parties, isn't it? We are a bit behind in Hell..."

"Demon," the word itself seemed to taste badly in Gabriels' mouth. "Be gone, we came to speak not to you."

"A moment, please," Aziraphale said. "This is my house and I decide who's to go and who's to stay. Crowley doesn't go anywhere. And I don't hold you."

The demon came at one of the shelves and pulled out a book, offered it to Michael:

"Here, you can take this for not to have all this time wasted. Shakespeare, one of the best humans’ verse makers. "

Aziraphale recognized the book – it was "Richard II", a simple edition such as the angel allowed to buy from time to time. Crowley's intention was obvious to him, but he doubted that Michael would appreciate the irony. The archangel looked at the book as if it could bite and didn't try to take it.

Gabriel sighed heavily:

"Aziraphale, don't make this more complicated than it is. We need to talk to you and his presence is totally inappropriate."

The angel pressed his lips together:

"You can speak with Crowley here or go."

"We hardly can expect a demon to have any decency," Uriel said annoyed, looking at Gabriel.

Crowley was just returning the book to its place and cast her a quick smile upon his shoulder, then made himself comfortable in an armchair between the shelves.

Gabriel exchanged looks with other archangels and turned to see only Aziraphale.

"You are still one of us, Aziraphale," he said with feeling. "We all expected you to Fall after your disobedience, but it didn't happen. It means, you still belong to Heaven. You have a chance to return there."

"If I recall right, Heaven tried to execute me and then exiled," Aziraphale said.

"It was a misunderstanding," Gabriel spread his arms. "A mistake! A sad mistake on our side and rashness. We regret it. If She," he looked up emphatically, "doesn't see you guilty, we mustn't too. It’s our own fault. We left you here for too long."

"We supported you not enough," Uriel added energetically.

Aziraphale had very specific memory of her support last time, but he didn't say it.

"It should be our fault that you turned to a demon looking for understanding... as impossible as it sounds," Gabriel said. "And he used it to lead you astray. No-one thinks you were the first to come out with the idea to disobey orders."

"You always followed your orders, Aziraphale, You were always a good angel," Michael said.

"Not ideal, but who is perfect, except for God. We all know how many commendations you got for your work," Gabriel spoke on. "Only the demonic influence could cloud your mind this way. He seduced you with false ideas and false promises of something good here, on Earth... and I don't even want to blame him!" Gabriel waved his hand dismissively. "It's what demons do, in the end, they don't know any other way. But we, Aziraphale, we are angels, we shouldn't listen to them. You know that the true light can't be found anywhere but in Heaven. Nowhere else can you know the true joy."

"Admit the wrongness of your ways," Uriel came in with an unexpectedly passionate plea. "You must have not fraternized with demons, you must have not disobeyed your orders."

"If God had wanted to stop Armageddon, She could have done it without your humble assistance, couldn't She?" Gabriel smiled mildly. "Abjure your wrong ways and come back home, to Heaven."

"We get the evidence that you meddle in other angels work," Michael said. "Come back, and you will be able to do it properly again. Knowing for sure, you're doing a right thing. After you’ll have straightened out your mind in a calmer place, of course."

"The planning department could use your experience," Uriel said cheerfully. "Or the Library."

The archangels didn't move, but Aziraphale still got the feeling they cornered him. He looked at them and tried to understand how he had managed for thousands years to persuade himself they knew the God's Plan better, they were really just and kind.

"In a word, Aziraphale, you need to do just a few things," Gabriel declared. "Abjure the demon, admit your faults publically – we won't make a great event out of it, but it must be done officially."

Aziraphale looked from one of them to another and couldn't find the words.

" Do you really thin..."

"Of course! We will really take you back," Gabriel opened his arms.

"We really think you are strong enough to cast aside empty temptations and come back to your brethren and duty," Michael said.

The angel shook his head slightly:

"Do you really think I'd buy this rubbish?"

Uriel made a strange disappointed sound. Gabriel sighed.

"We hope, Aziraphale. We hope and believe that God's Grace has not left you not in vain. Hasn't left yet," he said.

"An angel shouldn't be outside of Heaven," Michael eyed him closely. "Sooner or later you'll see it, Aziraphale. There can't be angels outside of Heaven."

'We don't force you to decide right now. Although it would be for the best, at least the demon couldn't influence you further," Gabriel said. "We leave you to think and to prove that it was before when we did a mistake, not now."

"The demon has a name," Aziraphale said. "And you are acquainted with Crowley."

"The sooner you'll forget it, the better," Gabriel smiled. "I don't know what your think him to be – a friend, a lover, an ally – it's all lie, Aziraphale. Demons don't care about anyone but themselves. The moment he realizes you can't protect him, he will leave you." The archangel turned and looked at Crowley: "And he cannot protect you, demon."

"Enough." Aziraphale waved his hand, and the front door opened wide. "Get out of my shop."

"Aziraphale!" Uriel started to speak, but Michael looked at her, and she closed her mouth.

"By the way, isn't this shop listed as a base of Heavenly operations?" Michael said, glancing around with a bored face. "We may need to confiscate it."

"Oh no," by the click of his fingers a bunch of time yellowed papers appeared in Crowley’s hands. "This place was bought on Aziraphale's personal money without using Heaven's founds or miracles. The means came from the private earthly accounts. Although he needed a little extra sum and asked me for a loan, which I preferred to make a gift, for my own reasons. Wouldn't it be funny if a Heavenly operation base was situated in a place partly bought on Hell's means?"

The archangels’ faces showed disgust. Uriel glanced around with a clear ill feeling.

'Perhaps we need to check these papers later," Gabriel said. "But this is one more sad evidence of how low you let your standards drop, Aziraphale. Think about it."

Michael looked directly at Crowley, but he didn't flinch. The archangel smirked.

'We give you time to think, Aziraphale," she said and went to the door. "Choose wisely."

They all shot upwards as soon as they stepped outside.

Aziraphale sat down on the chair feeling weary. He didn't realize how much this conversation took out of him.

"I'm sorry, Crowley, I needed to hear this all from them. They wouldn't left other way, all the same."

The angel lowered his face into his hands. He expected to hear some scornful remark, but Crowley just breathed out through his teeth:

"You seem to need a cup of cocoa, angel," and went upstairs.

Aziraphale hesitated not knowing if he should do something. The demon was in his right to feel uneasy after facing three archangels and to need a moment alone. The angel decided to wait.

Crowley came back in a couple of minutes, with a cup of cocoa in his hands indeed. He placed it carefully in front of Aziraphale.

"Here it is, you poor seduced angel," this was more like his usual grin.

'"Thank you, Crowley, for the second time in an hour you come to rescue me," Aziraphale smiled.

The demon leaned on a shelf with his shoulders. He put his glasses on again, and his face was hard to read.

"You didn't need my help. You were doing just fine on your own."

"But you lied about the bookshop," Aziraphale sipped a bit of cocoa.

"I couldn't let this pricks threaten it standing right here, could I?" the demon shrugged his shoulders. He kept silent for a moment, then said: "You must accept their offer, Aziraphale."

"What?! Crowley, I..."

"You must go back to Heaven, angel."

Aziraphale looked at him, totally gobsmacked. The demon sighed and went on:

"It will be better for everybody. You would be able to do what you love and not to worry about anything, keep company and visit there when you like."

"Excuse me, Crowley, why do you think I want... I can want any of this?" Azirpahale finally found his tongue.

The demon tipped his head to the side a little and said softly:

"I'm watching you, angel. All this time here..." He shrugged. "When you found out about excommunication you wouldn't even eat. You take on every task you can, even those you always hated as if you were punishing yourself. You work till you drop. You're beaming with joy every time Noel comes and are ready to speak even to Farael just because she is an angel".

"Noel is a good boy, of course, I'm glad to see him. And Farael needs help even if she isn't ready to admit it. And yes, I like to know someone doesn't want to kill you or me right now. But, Crowley..."

"You're trying, of course, you're an angel. But you're unhappy here."

Aziraphale stood up angrily:

"I'm sorry I can't rebuild my whole life in a minute. But it doesn't mean I want to go back. Please, let’s stop this conversation."

"They threatened you, angel. Here, in your own house. Do you think they will ever leave us alone?.. And I can't do much to scare them off."

"It wasn't me nearly killed three times in the last two months. I'm not going to leave you here alone and unprotected."

"I've just got sloppy. I'll be fine. Together we only draw more attention."

Aziraphale looked at him for several seconds:

"Would it be better for you too if I left?"

"Yes, if I know you'll be okay."

"And what would you do? Run away to Alpha Centauri? Go back to Hell? You hate it, Crowley!'

"Alpha Centauri is boring without company," Crowley shrugged. "I'll always find something."

"Plenty of people to fraternize with?" Aziraphale couldn’t say himself where these words came from.

Crowley was silent for a moment:

"Yes, if you like."

"Crowley, I'm sorry, it was silly, all this is silly, why do we even discuss this nonsense! I wouldn’t be okay in Heaven, not after everything that happened. And have you somehow missed the "abjure the nasty demon" part?"

"Yes, of course, we should be enemies again. And you will be very cross with me for how I've used you. Everything will be back to normal. And we'll always find a way to see each other..." Crowley paced through the room miraculously avoiding tilting over book piles.

"Of course, especially when they lock me up in some Office for some centuries!"

"In Heaven's Library, angel. You wouldn’t notice how time flies. They will need to chuck you out."

"But I don't want to do it anymore, Crowley. I don't want to hide and to lie about you. I want to tell we're not friends never again.

Even from behind his glasses, Crowley looked anywhere but at the angel.

"A very nice sentiment, Aziraphale, but it changes nothing. I hope this blasted gold will fade from your wings.... Or, perhaps, if you pull these feathers out, then new..."

"Crowley! I will do no such thing!" Aziraphale lost his temper at last. "Paint them, bleach or do anything else this stupid. I cherish them, you idiot, don't you see it? That’s the color of our side, of you and me, and I'm proud of it!"

Crowley growled powerless.

"There is no our side, angel! It's an illusion. A dangerous lie! Forget about it!"

"No," Aziraphale stood in the middle of the shop, folding his arms across his chest, prime and stubborn.

Crowley looked at him for several seconds, then hissed something slurred, turned around on his heels and stormed out nearly tearing the door away. The angel heard the tires screeching.

Aziraphale stood a little more hoping the demon would come back.

He could chase after him. He could find him wherever he went.

But what could they add to their words now?..

Aziraphale made himself close the shop and check if everything was all right there. Then he found himself circling around for the third time in a row.

Crowley was perfectly able to take care of himself. He had his right to be alone if he wanted.

Aziraphale made another circle around the shop when noticed a brand new phone on the table. The angel picked it, remembered how to create a message, and looked at the screen for a couple of minutes.

"Please, come back any moment as soon as you like. I'll be here."

The phone chimed sending the message and went still.

Aziraphale made himself some tea and settled on the sofa.


	20. No Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Earth, in Heaven and in Hell there was no possibility for the Guardian of the Eastern Gates and the Serpent of Eden to spend the eternity openly together. Nobody could even dream about such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the last chapter.  
After finishing, I felt a need to re-arrange the text a little. So, some previous chapters are merged together now, and all of them have titles.  
(also I cleaned out at least part of typos and mistakes, thank you for your patience with me)

Crowley raced and raced until not only all thoughts, but also all emotions were blown away and dissolved into the speed and he was nothing more than an empty shell of a demon behind the wheel. He stopped at last, pulled over from the country road somewhere on the high rocky sea shore, not so far from a village with a difficult name.

He had been here before. Long ago Crowley had discovered that if there was a place you hated with all your soul but were obliged to come back there anyway, nothing made you focus better then the view of it's entrance. And on the bottom of a hollow not far away from him there was one of the back doors to Hell. Humans as usual suspected something but preferred to ignore it and just live not a mile away.

Crowley seriously considered to go Down there for a while. Simply disappear, get lost in Hell, don't leave Aziraphale a chance to do otherwise than come to his senses. This plan had two downsides. Crowley wasn't so eager to die, and his chances to survive in Hell right now were... slim. He made too many beings angry by his Apocalypse prank. And more importantly, there was no guarantee that Aziraphale would not try to go there and find him out of stubbornness and loyalty to his word. And this didn't line up with the idea to keep the angel save.

He could not only disappear but stage a little show. Create an impression that he was bored out of job and really wanted to go back to Hell? Do something really demonic, remind everyone Below that he was far more useful alive and not in a torture chamber. And disappoint Aziraphale, so he would wash out his hands and let the demon be.

Something was telling Crowley his chances in both cases were slim to none.

Bentley carefully kept silent all this time, but now the first chords of _Too Much Love Will Kill Yоu_ started.

"Exactly!" Crowley growled. "And if this is your idea of friendly support, I'll better be outside!" He left the car and slammed the door.

To stay beside it felt silly, and the demon stormed off towards a bench not so far away. It was awaiting some sea-lovers, perhaps. Crowley didn't care for sea-views right now and perched on the back of the bench facing the road.

"_Would it be better for you too if I left_?" The angel even managed to sound hurt as if he could really imagine even for a moment Crowley wanting him to leave.

Crowley wanted him to be safe. At least relatively safe, as for the last thousands years of secret meetings and playing their bosses for fools. "There can't be angels outside of Heaven" – these words of Michael were nearly an open threat. Aziraphale couldn't not see it too. How could he not understand they didn't have other options? The idea that his angel should obey those pricks again nearly made Crowley sick, but at least he would be safe. And it was out of question on Earth now.

Starting all this sabotaging Armageddon thing, Crowley didn't think so far forward. He didn't think what would they do with their former bosses and other angels and demons. He didn’t think that Heaven and Hell would learn to act so quickly and they wouldn't have even a year, not to say a dozen...

He didn't think that Azirpahale would protect their side so stubbornly. The angel was always careful, the angel was always cautious and doubted for centuries before making a decision.

For centuries the demon was the one who pushed and teased, who wanted too much and too fast – being sure that the angel wouldn't ever cross the line, wouldn’t make a movement to rash, wouldn't rick too much for their... Arrangement. Their friendship. Aziraphale loved him, and with a personal, not just all-encompassing angelic love. This would be foolish to doubt, especially after Crowley had an opportunity to literally dive into this love. But it was never in the first place for the angel. Something always was more important: the greater Good, the God's Will, Heaven's orders. And Crowley accepted this. He wasn't ready that Aziraphale could suddenly change his position. He wasn't ready at all to believe that angel could earnestly say he was proud of their side. That he wanted to spend the eternity here, on Earth, specifically in Crowley's company. Such a life was too small for Aziraphale, even if he tried to convince himself otherwise.

And more importantly, it was impossible. Demons don't get happy endings. He couldn't want anything more than just settle on Earth and share it's pleasures with Aziraphale, but it just couldn't be. He couldn't bring his friend anything but constant danger, grief and demise. Crowley could give not so much thought to himself being a living target for the likes of Michael or Hastur – he was enduring enough, and snakes have more lives than cats although a few beings know that. But he couldn't risk Aziraphale. Staying together, they attracted too much attention by this fact itself. Even Alpha Centauri was not an option anymore.

On Earth, in Heaven and in Hell there was no possibility for the Guardian of the Eastern Gates and the Serpent of Eden to spend the eternity openly together. Nobody could even dream about such a thing.

Although not so long ago nobody could dream that the Antichrist, born specially to destroy the world, would politely decline this idea and go home to be punished and stay in his room. Nobody, except for the crazy demon and angel. Who even before that managed to make up the world where they could be friends, not enemies and spend cosy evenings drinking wine and talking philosophy.

It seemed now Aziraphale was envisioning something new.

Perhaps, Crowley had to trust his vision?..

The demon rubbed his face. His thoughts were going in circles.

He looked around and noticed a car that stopped nearby. Bentley wasn't seen from its point, so the driver didn't know there was someone else here.

He spread a map on the hood of his car, then threw it away with a moan and grabbed his smartphone. But it seemed not to have a signal, so the man started pacing around, waving his gadget.

He didn't notice a truck racing along the road – at least not before it was far too late. And then the wind struck him in the face, and he found himself standing on the side of the road with a stranger in black holding him by the shoulder. It seemed this man had just pulled him from under the wheels.

The driver cursed and bent down, grasped at his heart.

"Oh shit'" he said. "Where are they racing to, bastards... Thank you, mate, you came here just in time..."

"It happens," Crowley answered dryly. He didn't know why he had saved this human, it was just a mindless act. At least he didn't need any more to make up how to push this saved person to a sin all of a sudden.

"No, really, thank you, I'd be..." the man laughed hysterically, "a bright spot on a dull landscape. What's your name, who should I thank?"

Humans didn't ask this so often these days, and Crowley answered from habit, as hundreds of times before.

"Thank angel Aziraphale."

The man looked at him surprised and seemed to notice for the first time his sunglasses, not very appropriate in the barely morning light.

"Didn't think you are a religious type. But as you say. Perhaps, I'll give you a lift? Buy you a pint for such an occasion..."

Crowley shook his head lightly and grinned:

"No, thanks, I'm walking here. You need to go back to the last turn and take the right one."

"Oh, that's it..." The man didn’t' ask how the stranger knew he was lost. He just waved his hand and got back to his car. Crowley followed him with a gaze.

Actually, he could use his own name now and let Aziraphale be Aziraphale.

And in other respects too if one would give it a proper thought. Even if he tries to be reckless.

The demon came back to his car. Bentley opened the door obediently, keeping offended silence. Crowley patted her gently on the panel:

"Don't pout. Let's better go for a ride again."

He took his phone from the seat where he’d left it. One new message. Aziraphale. Crowley shook his head incredulously and chuckled.

He stepped onto the gas pedal, and Bentley speeded off.

***

It was evening again, and the CLOSED sign was on the bookshop door, but it wasn't locked. Crowley held the doorbell and came in quietly. There was light in the backroom. Aziraphale was sitting there in the corner of the sofa, putting a lamp beside him and reading. The blond haired angel in a bowtie, in a yellow circle of light, with a book. A real picture of cosiness.

"Hi, angel," Crowley leaned on the door.

"Hi, Crowley," Aziraphale beamed. "How... how was your ride?"

"Fine." The demon put his glasses in the pocket and flopped down on the sofa. "About yesterday. You were right, I was wrong, it's obviously up to you, I don't want to talk about it anymore." He hesitated for a moment and added: "Honestly, I don't want to talk at all. May I just stay here for a while? You do what you were doing."

"Of course, dear, as long as you wish", the angel smiled. Impossible, chocking weight had just lifted from his shoulders.

Crowley swung his legs over the armrest and put his head into the angel's lap.

'"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Aziraphale took the book again. "Comfortable?"

"Of course. Gabriel knows nothing about softness."

Aziraphale chuckled:

"I'd think so."

"Don't worry, I'll need to go soon, my plants need water."

"Your plants wouldn’t dare to wilt unless you vanished for several month. And I am glad to have you here," Aziraphale took the book into the left hand and gently put his right onto Crowley's hair. The demon didn't object, just closed his eyes tiredly:

"You were going to read, angel".

Aziraphale nodded and found the place on a page where he had stopped before. But his thoughts were wondering away from the plot, and after a while he let the book down. The demon was lying still and breathing evenly, but Aziraphale was sure he wasn't sleeping.

"You know, one of these days I was finishing my business at that hospice and thought it's time to go home. But I suddenly didn't know where to go. Funny, isn't it? We hadn't made plans for the evening so I wasn't sure where you should be and what home I actually meant."

"That's what mobile phones are for," the demon said leisurely.

"Yes. Or..." the angel stuttered for a moment and finished quietly, "living together."

Crowley opened his eyes:

"What do you mean?"

"Well, quite what I've said? Wouldn't it be nice to have a common place where both my books and your plants would fit?.." He was afraid Crowley would laugh now. Or get angry again. He wasn't sure what would be worse.

"Angel, do you seriously consider moving in with a hereditary enemy, a vile fiend?" the demon smirked.

"I thought more about my best friend, you know," Aziraphale said gently. "Or am I just being ridiculous?"

"You are ridiculous," the demon nodded, closing his eyes again, then added, slowly and as if not completely aloud: "The plants could go outside. Something like a... garden, you know."

Aziraphale held his breath for a moment, overwhelmed with how vulnerable Crowley sounded and how much tenderness it woke in himself.

"A garden, yes. Beautiful," he agreed, knowing exactly how much this word meant. "But this would mean out of the city then? I don't think you'd like such an idea."

Crowley looked at him once again. The angel was completely serious. There was hope and a bit of excitement in his eyes. Like a child waiting for a Christmas Eve, really.

It was madness, of course. One couldn't imagine a bigger insult in return for the archangel's offer. It wouldn't last. They won't be left in peace ever. Aziraphale won't stop looking for a greater purpose. Something will be wrong. But for a time... Not a happy ending, not at all, just a new chapter in the story. It could be... beautiful.

"I could use a change of scene," he shrugged nonchalantly. "It's never too far from London with the Bentley. A cottage in the country then. I'll look for a place."

"Thank you," the angel smiled now.

There was doubt in Crowley's eyes, he knew. The disbelief, which hurt. But hope also. And the demon dared to risk, which was a little victory, a first step, a beginning of their new road. And they will get there, one day Crowley will be sure that he won't be alone anymore, that Aziraphale always will be at his side.

"By your silence, you're already picking a colour for the curtains. And a font for housewarming invitations for all your buddy angels," Crowley sat up and moved his hand through his ruffled hair. "What am I getting into... Can I distract you and tempt to dinner, perhaps?.."

Aziraphale gestured, and a respectfully dusted bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape with two glasses appeared on the table.

"Let me better tempt you to stay here tonight," he said. "I just thought how long ago I ‘d spent a spring in the countryside last time. Does England still have nightingales?.."

"A cottage with nightingales, okay..."

God smiled contently. She reached through space and just for fun painted one more feather in each of their wings manually. Her favourite project of the last two thousand years was finally moving into its final stage. It wasn't easy to establish a third side without direct interfering or starting a new global war. Now She could watch what will come out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you reached this point with me, please, be so kind and leave a comment. Tell me what you think of this fic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Inktober 2019. Day 8: FRAIL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20954681) by [Landi_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Landi_Elliot/pseuds/Landi_Elliot)


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